


Pale Blue Dot

by greylune



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Adorable Pavel Chekov, Aliens don't subscribe to gender okay, All the time, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Asexuality Spectrum, BAMF Hikaru Sulu, BAMF James T. Kirk, But so slow at somepoints its inverse burn, Dadmiral Christopher Pike, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Genius James T. Kirk, I swear it has a happy ending I swear okay, Im basically rewriting all of star trek so, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy Friendship, Leonard McCoy is a good good man, M/M, Minor Character Death, More tags to be added as stuff progresses, Neurodiversity, No deaths outside of movie canon I wouldn't do that to you guys, Pre-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Nyota Uhura, Slow Burn, Spock Being an Asshole, Spock is sad like, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Stubborn Idiots, Sybok is the best brother, Teenage Rebellion, Vulcan Culture, Ya'll this is gonna be a long haul like, have fun with that, starts off as kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 104,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greylune/pseuds/greylune
Summary: Even the dirt was different here. It crumbled differently, clinging almost. As stubborn as anything, he supposed, that was human.When you are young and in love things are simple. That is, until the world makes them complicated. Spock meets Jim as a young Vulcan moved to Earth in search of something, but all he found was a crappy t shirt and well... a mess of a neighbor. Nevertheless, they take on the world together, in the way only the two know how. Begins at ages 5 and 7, and continues as they grow both together and apart all the way through Enterprise adventures. For although Space may be the final frontier, Love will always be an unknown in need of exploration.Updates bi-weekly because I'm a Coward.





	1. Smoke Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am incredibly excited to be posting this fanwork to this site as it is my precious baby and the hardest I've worked on anything ever really. The base concept of "meeting as kids" was based on the beautifully writen "Magpie" by waldorph, but thats really where the similarities end. This is a lot of hurt, a lot of feel good, and honestly, just a lot of geekdom. I hope you all enjoy this little slice of love I've got for you.
> 
> With all my thanks,  
> Taliesin

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/142086517@N05/43387623445/in/dateposted-public/)

Even the dirt was different here. It crumbled differently, clinging almost. As stubborn as anything, he supposed, that was human.

Spock sat crouched in the garden, rubbing the brown mush between his forefinger and thumb, watching how it remained despite all efforts for him to shake it from his skin. On Vulcan, you could feel every individual grain, every stray fragment of rock in the oxidized dust, the red staining your fingertips ever so slightly, so that your fingerprints were markers not only of who you were, but where you were from. On Vulcan, you could feel the heat soaked into the soil long after you took it from the ground and out of the onslaught of the sun. Here, it was cold. Damp, even.

_Seventy three percent silt, twenty one clay, six percent sand,_ he thought drearily. _Really, what could they possibly grow natively here?_

He suppressed the _“nothing I would like,”_ that threatened to follow.

He ran his hand over his robe, a brown trail appearing across the coarse fabric. He could not decide if it was interesting or rudimentary that they had given the soil the same name as the planet. _Earth._ As if the dirt too was exclusively that of humankind.

The Californian sky was shockingly blue above him. When he had stepped off the shuttle Starfleet had provided for his father and family, that had been the first thing he noticed. His mother had smiled at him, and her eyes, although undeniably human, were such a paler hue in comparison to the scattering of light and molecules that colored this planet’s sky. _Blue is a very human color,_ he had thought as he trailed behind Sybok, following their guide out of the crowded landing bay, the hustle and bustle swallowing him up before he had a chance to look back, his rucksack with the Terran history books his father had given him bouncing uncomfortably on his narrow shoulder blades.

“To get you acclimated,” Sarek had said when they had met in his study less than a month ago. “Naturally it is appropriate to familiarize yourself with the culture and politics of a planet you will be living on for the foreseeable future. Perhaps it will give you something to talk about with the other children.” They were disgusting, heavy  paper things that Spock had struggled to carry back up to his bedroom without bumping against his knees or stumbling up the stairs.

Blue had been in those books as well. It was the first thing that had been of any remote interest. The old fashioned grainy photo, something a primitive tin can could have taken, of Voyager I turning around before being the first to leave their solar system. It had captured the Earth as a single blue pixel in the distance.

Spock had stared at the photo, running his hand over the smoothness of the glossy page. It was of no scientific importance. The scientists in charge of the program had simply wanted the robot to… say goodbye.

_Irrational,_ he had thought, while simultaneously wondering if he would be able to see Vulcan in the distance when he left it behind.

They had taken a large black car from the landing ground to the Embassy, and then after a side discussion that had Sybok rolling his eyes between his mother, father, and a man in a well cut suit, they had returned to the car and driven to a gated community with houses that seemed like they were more concerned with stretching as far into the sky as possible than expanding more than a few feet outward. He found this, and their ridiculous coloring, rather amusing. After all, the sky was so vast here. And yet, still they scrabbled for every inch of it they could touch. The blur of it all passed as he gazed out the tinted window, until Marin County was simply a haze that he could pretend did not exist outside the safety of the speeding car.

“There is already a small Vulcan community living here,” his mother had said, her hand on his knee as the driver had cracked far too many jokes, waiting for a reaction from Sarek, who simply nodded at appropriate times. “The Federation has been incredibly considerate in setting up the Embassy with everything we need, and you’ll be able to continue your education in the top school here. There are even some Vulcan teachers I believe.”

The driver had pulled up to a particularly garrish yellow townhouse with green shutters.

“It has… character,” Sybok had chuckled, unable to resist further snickering as the driver had fumbled and rushed to take their transport cases out of the car. Sybok had not truly minded of course. Why would he? Within the hour he had taken a cab across the bridge to San Fran, and had returned wearing denim jeans missing a majority of their fabric and a leather jacket with an abundance of pins and patches proclaiming himself part of something called “The Movement.” Spock was unsure which movement this specifically meant, however he was confident Sybok neither knew or cared as long as he was moving Somewhere. He had often said something along those lines to Spock. “Don’t get stuck,” Sybok would murmur, peering over his book on the nights they were home alone, reading  opposite each other in the family common room. “How… stationary you are. Concerns me.” On those nights, sometimes Spock would walk over and sit next to him on the arm chair. They would sit with their shoulders touching, quietly reading.

_Moving,_ he would think, _elicits fear._

 

And now he was here. In a fenced in backyard on Earth. They fenced in _yards_ here. Unlike Vulcan, where the whole desert was one in the same as your home.

_Moving too far. And too fast._

 

“Spock?”

His mother’s voice called from somewhere behind him, and Spock instinctively froze as if he had been caught in the act. His mother often said that. _“I caught you in your head again, didn’t I?”_

He slowly turned to see here, leaning against the porch screen door looking at him with her knowing, sad smile. Her dark curled hair was pulled back out of her face, flushed from moving and unpacking crates. Beautiful as ever, of course. She had a dish towel in her hands, and was wringing it with slow and steady movements, as if she had complete control over even a nervous tick such as that.

“ ** _Ashal-veh,_ ** get out of the dirt, you’ll ruin your robes.”

He rose as she walked over, tutting and reaching out to brush off his knees.

“You know, if I caught any other seven year old playing in the mud, I’d be pleased. With you, I’m suddenly worried for your health,” she tittered, laughter tinging the edges of her voice. Spock opened his mouth, felt his vocal cords vibrate, shaking instead of communicating, and chose instead to stare at the grass poking out from underneath his sandaled feet. Amanda sighed, tucking the dish towel idly in her back pocket and tilting his chin up to face her. “You look as if you’ll simply fade away into the cucumber patch.”

Spock exhaled softly, and with the release he let his mind quiet as her touch washed over him, waves of projected calm and suppressed worry sinking their way into every nook and cranny of his mind. He could feel the recesses in her fingertips as the coolness of her touch pooled and drifted across his face.

However even this did not still the churning in his chest that seemed to be an incessant constant over the course of the past month.

“As a human returning to your home planet, it seems illogical for you to continue referring to me using Vulcan terms mother. It is not as if we often use the language to converse in the home regardless.”

Huffing a laugh, she pulled him into her arms. She smelled of soft sweat and clean linens. Spock had long ago decided this was the superior scent.

“Spock, has how much I loved you managed to change over the course of moving planets?”

He hesitated. _The sky has been able to change. The ground has been able to change. Mother, the whole world has been able to change._ He cleared his throat, and allowed his arms to loop themselves around her waist. “Due to my inability to reference a past trial in which to gather information from, I would be unable to use comparative data to back the validity of any claim I would choose to make regarding-” Amanda poked him in the side, and he could feel her smile pressed into his hair. His grip, as if its own accord, tightened around her.

“...Considering the sheer amount of love you have expressed, such an occurrence would be unlikely.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she added, running a hand through his hair and tracing where it curled like hers behind his ears. “I will continue to call you Ashal-veh, **_Ashal-veh_ ** , because my love for you is one thing that is not different on Earth or Vulcan. And, because moving houses does not change you and your father’s entire culture.”

Spock frowned at her miscalculation. “You have failed to include Sybok.”

His mother grinned, the part of her that made Spock wonder what she had been like before she had met his father shining through, for it was as wild as this human West had once been.

“As he is currently at a Riot Grrl women’s rights protest, and we have been on planet for less than five days, I have come to the conclusion that your brother has simply been Californian this entire time without my knowledge.”

Spock felt the edges of his lips curve up. They stood there quietly, unfamiliar blue above and green below. With his mother’s hand still in his hair, he could almost pretend that the ground still had the same pull that it once had. That he didn’t constantly feel as if he were about to drift up, up into the atmosphere, surrounded and shrouded in that cold, thick air. They stayed like that for a long while, and he was grateful.

“You could be happy here, you know,” she whispered, barely loud enough that he could hear. “If you let yourself.”

Spock wondered, as he always seemed to, whether his mother was naive, or smarter than he would ever be. He landed, frighteningly, on both.

“Come,” she said, unraveling herself from him and taking his hand to guide him inside. “I know you haven’t changed since we left Vulcan. You’re getting a bath, for we have more than one single pair of traditional robes. And you stink.”

His smile was soft but present as he followed her in, the green painted door shutting behind them.

 

****

 

Spock watched his breath condense as he turned down yet another street on his quest to map the new neighborhood, imagining as he inhaled the path the oxygen heavy air took through his respiratory system, his blood, his cells. It pleased him to contemplate how so many planets had developed the same habitable conditions for life, supporting their own unique creatures in much the same way thousands of light years apart. And still there were worlds out there with entirely different definitions for life, who breathed sulfur and iodine instead of oxygen, if they even breathed at all. Who communicated through blinking lights, endocrine signaling, shifts of the wind. But even those could be reached if one simply had a extravehicular mobility unit with a functioning air tank, and the scientific research to adapt.

_And yet,_ Spock thought to himself, _I am here, instead of continuing my scholastic track to the Vulcan Science Academy._

The other Vulcan children of the colony had been… unsurprisingly disappointing. He had met five, three of which had been older males who had quickly latched onto his genetic inferiority. His reputation, apparently, proceed him.

**“Ah, the** **_Kre’nath,_ ** **come to his home world at last,”** one had said, in a particularly dignified meeting in an alley behind the library. **“Here to join us in exile no doubt?”**

Spock had sighed, straightened his back and lazily looked the other boy in the eyes, carefully stating in Vulcan, **“Perhaps you should acquaint yourself with the Federation standard definition of** **_bastard._ ** **You see, unlike your mother, Amanda Grayson is a woman of poise and class, and not, as the human in me would put it, a whore.”**

They had not taken kindly to this interaction.

He ran his tongue over the bruised lip he now sported as he walked, turning down another street. If his parents had thought his more distasteful interactions with his full blooded peers would disappear once moving Earth-side, they had miscalculated to an unusual degree. He had already learned to avoid the library, which was unfortunate, because as a gift from the Vulcan Embassy, it was the closest thing to home perhaps on the entire planet, with its arching curves and solar powered cells housing one of the United Federation of Planets’ largest databases. He might have been able to spend his time here doing something useful like continuing his own private education so he wouldn’t fall behind the other children back home in efforts to apply for the Science Academy. Instead, he was wandering the neighborhood, mapping it out in his head. Piecing together the world around him until it could be categorized back into something he could understand. Despite his efforts, it seemed a never ending expanse of residential buildings and American suburbia. The further out from the embassy you got the more the buildings looked exactly the same, and all the streets were named ridiculous things like Lavender, Serenity, and Longmeadow, which was ridiculous- if there ever had actually been any of all of those things the humans had constructed the houses over them. The Vulcan underground rail transport system and surface stone composed buildings did the most they could for accommodating an expanding population while still preserving the land. Humans appeared to believe that a four by four patch of grass and the occasional play park was environmental conservation.

The parks were endless.  He was rounding the corner to another one he had previously added to his mental road map. This one had banana yellow slides and a large statue of a cartoon bear with a green hat and bird excrement all over it. An abundance of children younger than Spock were climbing about it, their parents watching unconcerned from the sidelines. Spock watched to, for a while, idly making his way to the edge of the park and perching on one of the abandoned swings. It was entertaining enough to watch the children fall, cry, get up like nothing happened seconds later and continue running and yelling. It was so different. Spock couldn’t remember any child on Vulcan ever crying over something as simple as skinned knee. To be fair, he didn’t remember them ever playing tag either, and was certain if they ever had there had not been this many variations of such a stupid game. He took note of the fact that if one of the children simply shimmied up to the roof of the main tower, they would both be not touching the “woodchips” (the play area surface was made of recycled tire material, he did not understand why they were referring to it as such), while simultaneously being out of the reach of the blind seeker, who would have no access to the roof with their eyes closed, therefore resulting in them winning continually. Instead of taking this logical path however, the children seemed to enjoy getting as close to the one deemed “it” as possible, dancing just out of reach and laughing giddily. He did not understand why they would take pleasure in jeopardizing their stakes in the game with such unnecessary risks. It was as if they didn’t care about losing. But, what was the point of the game if you were not aiming to win?

 

“You’re thinking awful hard. I can like, hear your brain from over here.”

Spock blinked back into reality, turning to see an incredibly small boy who appeared to be drowning in a far too large t shirt pull himself up onto the neighboring swing. As the child heaved himself up, shifting to sit properly, his knees bumped together, his legs seemingly malapportioned to the rest of his body. His hair was a dirty blonde that swept over his eyes, and Spock found the foreign color both incredibly interesting and distasteful at the same time. The hair on the back of the small hands that clutched the swing chains was raised, and with only a tshirt and cargo shorts he must have been nearly as cold as Spock wearing his full Vulcan robes. Just as the glare was beginning to form on his own face, which he thought was fair as the boy’s tone had been incredibly rude, the boy flicked his hair out of his eyes and grinned up at Spock.

His eyes were blue.

This thought registered in Spock’s brain as a statement, _his eyes are blue,_ but at the same time what followed was such an illogical emotional reaction that Spock’s mind just repeated it over and over again with different inflections _his eyes are blue, his eyes are blue?_ But regardless of how many times the factual information was offered, the subjective reaction still did not make any sense. So Spock tried different variations.

_When the Apollo 8 crew took the first photo of earthrise, they saw the same color blue as this._

_Perhaps his eyes have the same optical properties as the atmosphere due to atomic composition, as for some reason it seems unlikely that they are not made out of the same literal fundamental material as the Earthen sky or sea._

_His eyes are the most human color._

_He is human,_ his mind offered, somehow not putting enough emphasis on all the meanings that the word could imply.

His own eyes blinked, the second eyelid closing just before the first, their color such a dark brown they were almost black, like almost all other Vulcans.

“Hello?” The boy was still smiling. Spock thought the smile was terrifying, and briefly wondered if Sarek had thought the same thing when he saw his mother’s own wild reckless grin.

Spock stood up from the swing abruptly.

“I do not wish to engage in your game of woodchips,” he stated curtly, already backing away from the boy.

“Your accent’s kinda funny.” The blonde boy didn’t move to follow him, instead simply pumping his legs to idly swing back and forth.

“English common is not my native tongue,” Spock said, torn between staring at the boy and turning and leaving as he had any other time- well, admittedly no other human child had tried to speak to him. He did not have enough data to know how to properly proceed with this exchange, and the time it was taking to process his decision was using precious seconds that prolonged the social interaction.

The boy’s face scrunched up for several seconds, and Spock was frightened for a moment that he had done something to break him.

“ **T’nash-veh spes if ra-** fuck, **rasahkos isha?”** The boy said, while in somewhat passable (if choppy) high Vulcan, with the strangest accent that Spock had ever heard his own language pronounced in. Spock decided  then that unabashed staring was indeed the correct response to this… experience.

“You are correct, that was... quite terrible.”

The boy chuckled, the laugh somehow involving the movement of his entire body, high pitched and bell like. “Hey, I think I deserve a bit of credit for effort. It’s not like you guys exactly go waving around rosetta stone editions of Vulcan to the public. Can’t really Duolingo that shit.”

“I… I do not understand what you mean.”

The boy didn’t answer for a bit, choosing instead to gain momentum on the swing, the folds of his t shirt flapping behind him as if the wind itself was intent on pulling him away. At the apex of his forward swing he flung himself off with near violence, and Spock’s eyes widened as he landed on his hands and knees on the ground. Without bothering to dust himself off, he turned to Spock.

“I’m bored. You look less boring. Come play with me.”

Spock frowned. “I have already stated-”

“Nah, not whatever those idiots are doing. They’re like… way too scared to play with me anyway.” This made him grin again, as apparently he had an endless reservoir of increasingly mischievous smiles, which made Spock feel vaguely nauseous. “I wanna play Command.”

He said this as if the words were supposed to make sense to Spock. The boy’s posture was somehow both aggressive and flighty at the same time, and he bounced on his heels as if waiting for Spock’s answer was taking several hours instead of seconds. But his eyes had admittedly interesting intelligence for his size. For humans in general.

“How old are you?” asked Spock, almost accusatory in tone.

“Five and a half,” said the boy, jutting his chin out. “How old are you?”

Spock straightened defensively, “Seven years, seven months, and twenty three days, under the Federation common calendar. I was unaware that Earth children of your age were-” he hesitated, changing his mind. “This vulgar.”

“I’m a lot of things people are unaware of,” the boy said, turning and gesturing for Spock to follow him. Spock took a deep breath. He did not think he was prepared for… this entire interaction. But the boy looked over his shoulder, grinning and beckoning him, and Spock found his feet moving with an insistence his brain could not muster. Rationalizing he told himself, it was unlikely the child was actually dangerous.

He may have been wrong.

 

Behind the slide, tucked into the corner of the play area, was what could only be described as a war zone. Dozens of toy battleships were strategically aligned on what appeared to be a massive four by five grid laid out with sticks, with pinecones and rocks placed with some sort of representative meaning. As Spock took this in, the boy ran over, and immediately began reorganizing the board, setting the ships up into two opposing fleets.

“How did you carry all of these here?” Spock asked, to which the boy shrugged and nonsensically replied, “Just did.”

He finished with the ships, scooting around the grid to draw a large half circle on the topmost side. Satisfied with his work, he turned to Spock to speak.

“You’ll play as the Starfleet defense. Mom says I have to let other people play as Starfleet sometimes. So I’ll be the terrifying Dominion armada who’s come to wreck your whole shit. You gotta protect the planet,” he pointed at the half circle. “You have,” his eyes flicked over the board, “six squadrons, each with four elements. My force has eight squadrons with two elements, and an independent flight of four.”

Spock did not care much about Starfleet, but had been under the impression they were mostly a force for diplomacy and scientific research.

“Is this not… too violent for your age groups standard of play?”

“What, would you rather play chess?” The boy scoffed.

“I enjoy chess.”

“Well,” the boy seemed to think about this seriously. “We’ll play that when I’m older and more boring, then.”

Spock did not mention the idea that he would most likely never speak to the boy again after today. He was not here to make friends.

_Then what are you here for,_ a voice in his head that sounded a lot like his mother echoed.

Each round of the game was split into four stages, the boy explained. The first was an initiative phase, where it was determined who held tactical advantage and would therefore go first in the following rounds. This commander would then begin the movement phase, his initiative allowing him to either move his own ship first, or orchestrate the first move of his opponent. All remaining ships were then moved, alternating commanders. The attack phase would begin, with different sized toys having different hit points, damages, and ranges, which were scrawled in messy sharpie on the worn plastic. The handwriting must have been the boys, for it was large and jittery, as if the writer had been able to stay in one place only just long enough to finish each letter. After all ships attacked, there was a final phase for damage control.

The boy carefully stepped to his side of the board.

“The scenario is, I’m protecting a ship charging an illegal colossus-grade weapon to destroy the planet. If you manage to locate and destroy that ship, you win. If I stall you long enough to charge the weapon, or destroy your fleet, I win. Any questions?”

Spock had several questions. Who did this child normally play with? It could not have possibly been the other children. Where were his parents? Even something as simple as how had he managed to get all these ships here, with no wagon in sight?

“No,” Spock tucked his legs underneath him and surveyed the board. The boy had given him initiative the first round, as the challenger. His hand hovered over a Peregrine class fighter, but then he chose a simple attack fighter. He picked up the small toy, and was about to move it when he hesitated.

“It occurs that I do not know your name,” Spock stated. The boy grinned.

“Jim. I’m Jim.”

 

Spock nodded, and set the game in motion.

 

***

 

Amanda was in the kitchen when she heard the screen door swing open and subsequently slam. “ **_Ashal-veh?_ ** How was it?”

She waited a moment, and the sounds of hurried and heavy footsteps going up the stairs, silence, and then much more careful measured steps coming back down them brought a small smile to her face.

“That bad huh?” She finished drying a plate and set it on the rack, turning as her son entered from the hallway. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth to suppress a burst of laughter.

Spock was standing completely still in the doorway. His face and clothes were smeared with dirt, his cheeks flushed, the green tint spreading all the way up to his ears, and his hair was ruffled to the point of unrecognition, with what looked like specks of rubber and sticks tangled up in the curls.

“I thought you were going for a walk?” she said, the humor apparent in her voice.

“I…” Spock trailed off, ducking his head with a small cough. “I engaged in a match of wits with a human child.”

“Did a zoo run through your academic team meeting?” Spock frowned, not understanding the reference, and she laughed. Snatching a towel from the sink, she passed some water over it and handed it to him, who stared at it for a moment, and then began washing his face with small systematic circles.

“I… lost. Which seemed illogical. I accused my opponent of… circumventing the rules of the game. To which he called me several human slang words and jumped me. He was incredibly wiley for one so genetically inferior in strength. I may perhaps need to be tested for rabies. I fear the child is unstable, for he was laughing the entire time.”

Amanda blinked. “You wrestled?” Spock thought for a moment, missing a spot by his nose, distracted from his meticulous scrubbing.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Did you have fun?” Spock frowned, not answering. He finished wiping his face and carefully replaced the towel over the hanger. He turned to leave, hesitating slightly in the doorway.

“His name is Jim. He requested I come back tomorrow to… play.”

He nodded, as if deciding something. With that, he returned to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashal Veh - Darling
> 
> T'nash veh spes if rasahkos isha - basically "my voice is bad too" because Jim's Vulcan sucks.
> 
> The song this chapter was written to was Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers, which basically sets the tone for the whole first act.


	2. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Another chapter for your enjoyment, this time to the tune of Wandered Away by Anna Leone, a fantastic singer with a stunning voice. Hope you all enjoy it! Some warnings for mentions of blood (dodgeball fight) and implied but not implicitly stated depression (sybok my sweet boy). 
> 
> The cover art for the first act of this piece is also finished! 
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/cvHXDAK
> 
> -Taliesin

Spock learned many things about Earth in the following weeks. Firstly, human school was incredibly complicated. Unlike Vulcan, where you simply had to memorize, synthesize, and articulate your logical conclusions, Earthen schools were a more social and analytical process.

“Toni Marretti is a Cardassian spy.”

Spock looked up from where he was copying English common in various fonts into a workbook. A girl with bright pink hair pulled back into pigtails and a cat shaped barrett in her hair was leaning over his desk. He recalled that her name was Emma. Or possibly Anna.

“I find this conclusion relatively unlikely.” Spock replied, returning to his work, but when he looked up again a minute later she was still there. “Are you seeking something?”

“We’re playing dodgeball during recess.” The girl put a piece of paper on his desk. It had a bunny drawn on it, and then the words _Where do your loyalties lie? Emma Weebler for class representative-_ written in bubbly cursive. “We need team turn out.”

Spock had been aware that due to location Leavitt Primary was home to some of the brightest children from Starfleet’s most elite families, but had yet to wrap his head around the day to day goings on of a group of socially devious second graders confined in the same three classrooms for an eight hour period each day who happened to all have the mindset of future diplomats, commanders, and world class scientists. He had not imagined it was that ruthless. He would learn.

“I will keep this in mind,” Spock murmured, returning to his class work.

In recess, factions formed quickly. Toni Marretti of “Don’t be Upsetti, Vote for Marretti!” had taken up the call to defend his and his family’s honor (Antony Maretti- Rear Admiral, Laavanya Kapoor-Maretti - one of the brightest minds in Interstellar warp drive advancement this side of the Tycho supernova remnant), and had carefully selected the best athletes in the class to carry his team. Emma, however, was not going down without a fight.

Spock watched from a distance as the teams lined up on either side of the tarmac, peering over his book as he sat under the aspen tree. A boy named Daichi sidled up next to him and plopped himself down, unzipping a lunch box full of snacks like a salesman proveying his wares.

“Good spot. I’ll give you my animal crackers if it isn’t Nate who draws first blood.” Spock raised an eyebrow.

“And if that prediction is inconsistent with the results?”

Daichi shrugged.

“Don’t need anything. I just like the thrill.”

 

By the time recess was over, Toni was unanimously voted class president, a girl named Delaney was being carried to the nurse’s office with a possible broken nose, and Spock was eating Paw Patrol shaped animal crackers.

He had never been so scared of eight year olds in his life.

 

Which led to his second realization. Living on Earth did not mean freedom from being seen as the lesser half of a more worthy whole. Having been bumped into second grade due to his placement tests, he now shared free hours and cafeteria time with the fifth graders. The Vulcan boys who he had met at the library (he had learned their names-- Chu’lak, Duir, and their apparent leader Senva) saw this as a exciting convenience.

 **“Kre’nath!”** Senva had called when they were following him to where he sat alone to eat his lunch. **_“Do you not want to eat with your kin? Or do they also think you a half breed? I doubt any of them were born in a petri dish like a mutt.”_ **

He had sighed. His mother had made C’Torr, steamed bao buns with Vulcan spices. It seemed it would go cold today.

 ** _“I wonder,”_** Spock had said, casually opening his packed lunch and folding his napkin in his lap, **_“What goes on in your home life for you to project so strongly on me? Paternal insecurities perhaps? Or-_** **”**

He no longer eats in the lunchroom.

 

However, this was all but usual to Spock’s life, being his everyday experience on Vulcan. What was new was the humans, for everything that the Vulcans valued about being Vulcan appeared to them as somehow stunted. He was used to being seen as different. He was not used to being seen as _broken._

“He doesn’t even blink-”

“I hear he screams when you touch him.”

“Do you see how he looks at you when you talk to him? It’s like his programming is malfunctioning.”

It was illogical. He did blink. He didn’t scream when he was touched, he simply didn’t like to be. And he was certainly not programmed, brain implant chips cost a mild fortune, and he had too permeable skin! If someone had spent millions of credits building such a realistic functioning android, they would go to greater lengths to protect the circuitry. He simply was not… human enough for them. A new and disturbing problem.

 

The final thing he learned about Earth in this time, was that Jim was the best and worst thing on it.

 

“Explosions do not look like that in space,” Spock murmured, knees pulled up to his chest as he perched at the top of the oversized bean bag chair that took up almost a quarter of Jim’s room. “Does Mr. Lucas not understand that the process of combustion involves and oxidizer? I assume there is still no oxygen in space in a galaxy both long ago and far far away.”

Jim snickered, reaching above his head to where the popcorn bowl was balanced on the bean bag and taking another messy handful, most of which continued the trend of missing his mouth entirely. He was wearing a massive yellow sweater rolled up at the elbows from some tourist trap vendor in Iowa. Spock had not been aware there were any tourists _to_ trap in Iowa. His desk pad was balanced on his lap playing Phantom Menace.

“I mean, if you’re gonna be a butt about it, they wouldn’t make sound either,” Jim said, who regardless adamantly believed he would one day discover how to use the force and become Starfleet Command’s first ever Jedi Knight. “And like, the vacuum would suck it up like _vwoomf_ ,” he made a wide motion with his arms, knocking half the popcorn into Spock’s lap. “Like a camera flash.”

Spock rolled his eyes, an Earthen habit Jim had taught him that he was particularly fond of.

The younger boy stretched out his legs, matching shark print socked feet wriggling as he squirmed to find a new position on the overstuffed sack. Spock huffed out a breath that could have been, if one decided to perceive it that way, a laugh.

“For someone who seems to enjoy movies so much, you are truly incapable of sitting still for the duration of one.”

Jim stuck his tongue out, pausing the desk pad and scrambling up to the top of the beanbag next to Spock, a few inches apart. When he wasn’t mad, he always kept space between the two of them, and never pursued skin to skin contact, which was strangely considerate for a human.

“Then entertain me, oh wise and powerful one!”

Spock quirked an eyebrow. In the month or so they had been spending time together, they had quickly fallen into a routine. When Spock got out of school, he would walk to the park and they would play Jim’s ludicrous war games. Once Spock had become accustomed to the game, (or as accustomed one can be to a game constantly shifting and expanding its rules, with variable and increasingly complicated scenarios, all borne from the imagination of a slightly unstable five year old) it became apparent that the two’s strategic wits were a close and interesting match. After they had finished their game they would walk around the neighborhood, or Jim would bike, Spock balanced on his pegs and complaining brusquely the entire time. Jim would find a way to get them snacks (Jim always being hungry and Spock finding that human lunch schedules did not fit his higher metabolism), for he seemed to know extensively the location of the nearest free food at all times. In the same afternoon, the boy could go from politely wooing the library’s entire senior book club into giving him brownies with manners and charm, to less than fifteen minutes later having an anxious Spock watch his back as he pocketed candy bars and gummy bears of every flavor from the blind spot in the gas station cameras. They would talk, for Jim loved talking, as they made their rounds. About everything. Jim was just as interested in listening to Spock’s measured ramblings about astrobiology and mathematics as he was discussing his Sunday cartoons and small legion of imaginary friends. Spock soon found he did not mind this either, even looking over Jim’s shoulder as he pointed out characters in his 60 cent comic books and magazines of cars he had stolen from his step father’s bedroom. To Spock, Jim soon became a well of new information. Suddenly he had a favorite superhero (Hank McCoy), ate cheeseburgers (Jim loved In N Out), and had a character for some strange game called dungeons and dragons. Jim opened up a whole new world to him, literally

They would wander the neighborhood until it started to get dark, and as Jim went on about hotwheels or physics Spock would gently direct the course back towards home. Jim often didn’t realize, or pretended not to, that they were even considering going home until they were already standing in Spock’s driveway. His face would fall for only a moment, but within seconds he had already plastered on a smile and waved from the curb or annoyingly dinged his bicycle bell. Spock would sometimes look out his bedroom window to see Jim turn and walk towards his own home, which was almost always dark with no light leaking through the windows. But he was always there the next day, grinning with some new maniacal plan for an adventure.

Amanda had been thrilled when she realized he had made a human friend. She constantly pestered him, and was always telling him to invite Jim over for dinner. Even Sarek, when he had found that Spock was spending his days with Captain Winona Kirk’s son had approved. “I know little about the child personally,” he had said, “but his mother is one of the most pioneering minds at work in Starfleet, and a consistently effective captain. The idea of her son continuing the legacy of both her and the former Captain Kirk is quite promising.” Spock thought the statistical likelihood of this attitude continuing if he ever really did have Jim over for dinner was… low.

On weekends, for the most part he was left to do his homework and read, but every so often the doorbell would ring and Jim would appear to propose some nonsensical scheme. They’d build rockets out of tin cans and gasoline nicked from his step-father’s garage, make a short film about the daily life of a pelican, build half a tree house Jim had dreamed up to look like a pirate ship. Today, Jim had come to the door, desk pad in hand, eyes ablaze, and had to repeat himself three times before Spock realized he was asking him how much he knew about python, and how long it would take to teach him.

“Frank put new parental controls for movie streaming on my pad again and that’s an injustice. Also, I wanna be able to say ‘I’m in’ in a hacker voice. Oh my god, Spock, Spock can we be hackers?”

So Spock had found himself in Jim’s home for the first time, a relatively large town house that seemed to be completely empty, with stray pizza boxes and soda cans around the living room, a sign that read “James don’t you dare touch” in spirally cursive taped to the stove in the kitchen that was slightly singed on the edges, and a frightening amount of alcohol in the fridge. Jim made microwaveable burritos from a small hoard of pre prepared food in the freezer, and they had crashed in Jim’s room, pouring over books on the subject Spock had borrowed-without-asking from Sybok’s bookshelf. Three and a half hours later Jim had victoriously screamed “I’m in!” and danced around the room fistpumping.

“What did you mean to watch?” Spock had asked, carefully unfolding the book pages Jim had dog eared.

“It’s a historical drama. It’s called Wolf of Wall Street.”

Spock had gotten so scarred within the course of the first three minute monologue, learned so much about the world, and turned such an alarming shade of green that Jim had finally pulled his maniacal laughing together long enough to click off and opt for Star Wars instead. Spock had watched dazed, regretting he had ever been conceived.

In all this however, he had never once taken the lead in what they chose to do. The idea of coming up with something to entertain Jim of all people seemed like a simply illogical task to assign to him.

Jim wiped his nose on his sweat shirt sleeve, his leg bouncing, probably without his knowledge. He was staring at Spock expectantly, and Spock was overcome by the more and more frequently occurring feeling of wanting to please him. The effect that Jim had on him appeared to be an undocumented phenomenon, for late one night Spock had scrambled out of bed and grabbed his pad, urgently searching databases with queries such as “Can two individuals make up their own independent species?”, “Why do humans’ eyes make you scared and happy at the same time, follow up: are all cases like this?”, and “How to make sure someone lives forever [specific science based answers only] – follow up: Human afterlives and can you still ride bikes to the beach in them?”. The results were mixed at best, and he was unaware of how to refine his search.

“I am not often described as entertaining. I am uncertain where I’d begin”

Jim rolled his eyes. Spock rolled his eyes back, which he had previously discovered was humorous to Jim, and as Jim laughed, high pitched and tonal, Spock decided it was humorous to him too.

“Don’t be dumb, I think you’re plenty entertaining, way more than any of the other dumbbutts at the park or at school.” Spock stared blankly. Jim made as if to bop him on the forehead – stopping an inch above his skin and letting his hand hover there, smiling. When Spock just continued staring, he giggled and dropped his hand, leaning back and tilting his head. “You think I’d play with you if you were boring?”

 _Yes,_ Spock thought. _You come home to an empty house and the other children are scared of you. Human children need attention and care. And there’s never been one more desperate for it than you._

“I suppose not,” he said anyway.

Jim winked, which he was terrible at and made his face look scrunched and silly, and shifted to a cross legged position facing Spock.

“Ask me a question. But I get to ask you some too.”

This was an opportunity, but one for Jim as well. Spock did not know what the boy wanted more, to talk about his ridiculous trove of interests, or to interrogate Spock about his past. However, Jim did not talk about his home life, his past, all the things that made Spock scared to ask but need to know. Spock had already learned much about Jim, from the boy’s ramblings and his own observance. Spock collected every detail like it was the most important.

Jim liked the ocean, but not as much as he liked open fields. Jim loved food, but if you told him he **had** to eat something he would rather starve out of stubbornness. Jim liked winning, but only when it was fair. The boy could fall out of a tree or split his knee on the sidewalk and get up like nothing happened, but if someone raised their voice he would almost certainly start sobbing. Jim cried _a lot._ He was a prodigy, and his parents didn’t know what to do with him. He went from his current mission of working his way systematically through memorizing the basic history and cultures of every federation planet (he wanted to be the best at Starfleet, and therefore he “should start now.” Jim _always_ wanted to start now), to setting small fires in the backyard, to curled up on his closet floor unable to speak or move at all in a manner of hours. People called him “volatile” if they had the nerve to talk about a Kirk that way, and the preschool social worker had suggested they take him out of school until he qualified for primary, where they would have _“more resources to help with his behavioral coping issues”_. But he was loyal to a fault, charming when he wanted to be, cunning, brilliant, good humored. Most importantly to Spock, he was just a kid. It seemed everyone else, including Jim, had forgotten.

 

Spock shrugged. “Illogical. I wish to know nothing about you. You are not interesting.”

“Did you just,” Jim stared at him, “was that a joke?”

“Yes. That was your first question. It is my turn. What-” Spock hesitated. He had quite a few questions, not all of which would be easy for the other boy. He should start with something simple. “What is your favorite animal?”

“A dog.” Jim reached for the pad, exiting out of the movie and pulling up pictures of australian shepards. “When I grow up I’m gonna get one and she’ll be my best friend and she’ll either be named Kid Flash or Madame Mae Carol Jemison the Second, I haven’t decided. So why’d your family leave Vulcan?”

Spock sighed. So much for starting simple.

“My father felt it was beneficial to his productivity in his work as ambassador. As well as this, I have reason to believe both Sybok and I played a role in the decision.”

“Why?”

“That is a second question, violating the assumed rules of the game.”

“Your haircut is a violation.” The _and also you can never say no to a face like this_ was silent, but the puppy dog eyes were certainly out.

“Sybok has- is not the- he does not act Vulcan. And I am not Vulcan.”

“So what?”

Spock glared. He did not like this game. “I would not expect you to understand the intricacies of my- of Vulcan culture.”

Jim glared back unflinchingly. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight (they were just young boys), but Spock rarely started it. He was aware that Jim was like a wet box of fireworks burning slowly at both ends, and would go from completely calm to an explosion without any warning.

“Don’t gotta understand anything. You’re just as smart as them, you’re just as brave as humans, and you actually care about things. So what if you’re different, you’re better different. Vulcans are just mad because they aren’t as cool as you.”

For a moment Spock was still. He was quiet as he closed his eyes, carefully restacked his spine, lifting up his chin and beginning to count backwards from 256 by seven in his head. Finally he simply said, “You do not understand.”

“Maybe that’s why I do.”

They met eyes. Spock blinked, second eyelid sliding across first. Jim blinked back, then huffed out a laugh, pleased in the way that only the simple humor of childhood can bring, his blonde eyelashes flickering across his skin.

“Where are your parents?” It was out of Spock’s mouth before he had even realized that was what he was thinking about. He half expected Jim to hit him, at least to say some sarcastic remark and put the movie back on, to tell him to leave and never come back. For a second it almost seemed like he would, his face going shockingly still, as if every muscle in his tiny body had tightened. But then his shoulders sunk, and he exhaled a breath that Spock was fairly sure he was going to knock him over. And he started talking.

“Mom’s on a ship. Get messages from her sometimes, she was near Pegasus 51-B last time we talked. She’s a hot shot captain,” and here Jim smiled, his pride undeniable. “She’s the coolest.” He took a deep breath. The next part was going to be hard.

“My dad-- there was an accident. Not really an accident. He was first officer on the U.S.S. Kelvin. Captain for about three minutes.” His voice didn’t shake. It was as if he was reading out of a textbook, reciting a math equation. It made Spock’s stomach sick. Jim wasn’t supposed to sound like that.

“A Romulan ship attacked his vessel. It was like nothing they had ever seen before, even the witnesses have trouble describing it. I tried making sketches from accounts but they look like a five year old drew them. I mean, I guess a five year old did draw them. They say it came out of a lightning storm. My dad had to buy time so everyone could escape. My mom and me included.”

Spock flinched. “You were… you were onboard?”

Jim smiled without any joy.

“Good old Jimbo was being born in the med bay. Happy little birthday party that was. They were gonna fire on the escape vessels. He.. he uh...” Jim stopped speaking, instead untying and retying his worn shoelace bracelet that was constantly on his wrist over and over again, his small fingers deft and unable to stop moving. Spock, for a rare time in his life, did not know what to say. He had the irrational feeling that they might just sit there forever, him speechless and Jim fiddling with shoelaces for the rest of their lives. Finally, Jim spoke again.

“Mom came home. She was just an ensign back then. She put me and Sammy in day care and worked on planet a bit. Met Frank. Then she left on the U.S.S. Kennedy. We’ve been here.”

“Who is Sammy?” Spock asked. _And where is he?_ He longed to add. _Where is everybody?_

“He’s my brother. Only I call him Sammy, everyone else calls him George. He’s uh, in juvie. Got in a lot of fights. Didn’t take losing Dad so well. One time a fight went south and he beat a kid half to death. Frank freaked. Said he wouldn’t have him in the house anymore.”

Spock racked his mind for what Terran juvie was,  but he had the basic concept of “bad news” from Jim’s statement.

“Do you ever get to visit him?” Spock asked.

Jim was quiet. He reached over and grabbed the desk pad, pulling up the movie and pressing play. Spock watched ships blow up inaccurately on screen, and when he looked over next, Jim had tucked his chin to his chest and fallen asleep. He stayed for the rest of the movie, and when he tried to get up and Jim had whined at the shifting of the bean bag, he stayed for Attack of the Clones as it autoplayed. When it finished he slowly rose, turned out the lights, and let himself out.

 

When he got home it was dark out. His parents had gone to some benefit dinner and Sybok was in the living room sprawled on the couch reading  a collection of poems. Spock was about to head straight up to his room, but instead he found himself awkwardly paused in the doorway, staring at Sybok.

“Brother,” he stated lamely. Sybok barely glanced up from his book.

“Mother made plomeek soup, you can heat it up in the microwave.” They both let out a huff of breath that could have been a sigh, for they always had plomeek soup when Amanda wasn’t home. Sybok still didn’t look up however, and Spock shuffled his feet trying to think of what he wanted to say.

“What are you reading?”

Lowering the book slightly and raising a quizzical eyebrow, Sybok nonetheless replied.

“One of my favorite Terran authors, Allen Ginsberg. He had fascinating views for his time on human sexuality and madness. His poems express profound loss and reverence for those lost. Why do you inquire?”

“I had no ulterior reasoning than making polite conversation.”

Sybok had shut the book at this point.

“Brother I mean no offense, but since when do you attempt to make polite conversation?” Spock really didn’t have an answer for that. He turned, making his way to the kitchen, eyeing the soup, taking a long hard stare at the wall, and abruptly ran back into the other room.

“Sybok!”

“...yes...Spock?”

 

Spock’s head was racing, filled with memories of all the times Sybok had hid away in his room, how often the other children had rejected him, how often _Spock_ had rejected him, just for feeling something. He thought of the passionate fights his brother had had with Sarek about pursuing the Vulcan Science Academy, the way you had to walk around the house carefully because it always seemed one wrong step and Sybok would simply fall over from the pressure. He thought of the night he had to stay at T’Pring’s house, his mother and father not explaining to him why they had to go to the hospital, and how when a week and a half later Sybok finally returned he had been quiet and reserved and spent a lot of time sitting in the garden. How Sarek had stopped talking about the academy, and instead started looking for alternate grade schools, who were more open to those of more emotional backgrounds.

He thought of Sybok’s face when they had been told they were coming to Earth, how he had spammed Spock’s inbox with pictures of California. How even as he laid on the couch now, his hair pinned back and reading glasses on, he was wearing that ridiculous leather jacket. How happy he had been when he bought it.

 

“You are,” Spock took a deep breath. “You are as intellectually capable as any other Vulcan, your bravery exceeds their cultural standard, and they are… they… they are simply mad because you are way cooler than them.” Sybok looked at him wide eyed, an amused smile pulling at his lips. Spock coughed. “Also, as I am aware of your hesitancy for authority in general, I must ask that you refrain from involving yourself with Earthen law enforcement.” He paused, thinking about the gun violence march Sybok had just attended. “Or at least as much as your quest for universal justice will allow.”

“Uh…” Sybok was eyeing him as if Spock had already eaten bad plomeek, but his face was soft and fond as he gave Spock a nod. “Thank you. I will do my best.”

Hesitantly, he turned back to his book, and after a moment Spock wandered back into the kitchen, preparing himself emotionally for the acceptance of having mother’s microwaved soup for dinner. And, in his lunch thermos for the next week. He was about to ladle some out when Sybok’s voice came from the doorway.

“I could-- I could order a pizza? There’s a Papa John’s that delivers.”

“A Papa John’s?”

Sybok shrugged, pulling out his comm device. “Terrans like calling things pet terms for father. The girls downtown call me daddy.”

Spock frowned, puzzled. Sybok laughed, and for the first time in a long while, rustled Spock’s hair.

“You don’t have to wear it like that anymore if you don’t want to you know.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah,” Sybok was dialing a signal Spock didn’t recognize, and set it to ring. “I’m growing mine out. Shave the sides maybe. Yours would look like moms.”

As Sybok talked to a man on the line about transferral of credits, Spock pulled at his own hair, wondering what it would look like if it were longer. Jim would most likely prefer it if he got rid of the bangs. Sybok finished up the order, hung up and turned back to Spock.

“Have you had pizza yet?”

Spock shook his head, and Sybok grinned, real and wide.

“As the Terrans would say, oh shit my lil bro, you’re never eating plomeek soup again.”


	3. Saltwater and the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Bit of a rough one here, I'm sorry my boys are so sad but I assure you that the next chapter will be so ridiculously fluffy that you wont know how to handle it. I'm talking Vulcans in Santa hats. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: Discussion of abuse (no actual descriptions of violent scenes), bodily injury, and just some sad boys
> 
> But don't worry guys Spock will take care of him.
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> Taliesin

I

It was December before things changed. 

 

September passed in a blur of school and Jim and family dinners. Sybok put red streaks in his hair and started tying it back, and Spock bought a t-shirt when he was at the science museum that said “Geology Rocks!” and sometimes would wear that and khaki shorts instead of his robes. Amanda still packed him C’Torr and kreyla for lunch, which he still ate in the classroom, but Daichi and a Vulcan girl named T’Ali sat with him now. Sometimes they would talk, and sometimes they would simply work on math in silence. Spock liked them well enough. They were quieter than Jim. He did not remember minding the quiet before.

October was a frenzy of hot glue and needle pricked fingers, punctuated by a victorious dance around the house when Jim had finally finished his Beast Boy costume, although it didn’t have the shapeshifting capabilities the early schematics had involved. Spock had gotten dizzy off sucrose as Jim had toted him from house to house, his felt Robin mask slipping constantly from its precarious tie around his ears. Long after the green face paint had rubbed off and their fingers were stained with chocolate, Jim had snuck past Amanda and Sarek’s bedroom and slept over, Amanda only finding out when she opened Spock’s door the next morning to find them both slumped over the desk pad, speakers still echoing Nathan Fillion’s voice as Firefly flickered on the screen. Jim had scarfed down banana pancakes drenched in syrup as if he had never eaten before, Spock’s mother jokingly laughing about how at least young home intruders appreciate her cooking, and that he was welcome as long as they  _ asked  _ first. She had waved from the window as Spock had walked Jim home.

Vulcan’s didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but Jim wanted to, so they packed a bag full of boxes of Froot by the Foot and white cheddar popcorn and biked to the hills. They ate like kings, or at least Jim’s version of kings, on the plywood floor of their half finished tree house. They laughed and talked, and before Jim got the chance to think about why he was eating with Spock and not his family, Spock threw up approximately seven feet of fruit, and he spent the bike ride back with Spock leaning on him for support laughing his ass off.

If you had asked Spock if he was happy, he might not say yes, but he would have looked at Jim fondly and wondered if it was really the worst thing to be. 

 

Frank came back in town December 3rd.

“He goes to like, car auctions, and business trips and stuff,” Jim had explained when Spock had finally asked about the man. Throughout the past months, he had come back occasionally for two to three days, and Spock wouldn’t see Jim for a while, but then he’d be ringing Spock’s doorbell thirty times as if nothing had happened. Spock was unsure of the two’s relationship. The idea that a man would abandon a child to his own devices was foreign to him. His own parents hadn’t let Sybok stay home alone until he was thirteen. But Jim did relatively well on his own, and Spock would hear tales of gifts Frank had brought back for the boy. Well, he knew Frank had bought the xbox willingly. The $300 in Sonic games Jim had downloaded using his card information probably didn’t count, but for all Spock could tell he had no specific negative impact on Jim’s life. So when the corvette showed up in Jim’s driveway Spock shrugged it off and focused on his studies, waiting for whatever day Frank left again and Jim came to spam his doorbell.  

On day five he had asked the dinner table if this delay was cause for concern, and Amanda had said she was sure Jim was fine, and just spending time with his step dad. When eight days had passed and Spock hadn’t seen Jim outside once, he decided to walk the perimeter of the house to gage whether or not there had been a robber and he should call the police.

 

Spock slipped on his sneakers, which still felt strange and stuffy compared to his sandals, but at least were not as bad as socks. He had to wear all those inside out, because the seams of the inner fabric were such a irking sensory stimulus that he couldn’t bear to leave them on for more than a few minutes. As he padded across the street, nothing stirred except the lace curtains of Mrs. Abernathy, who for some unknown reason always had both her windows open and her air conditioning on full blast. It rattled even more now, in the dead of the afternoon.

When he reached the grass it tickled around his ankles. It seemed Frank did not care to mow his lawn even when he was home. Spock felt silly, creeping along, awkwardly craning to try and peer through windows. He had almost given up as he finished rounding the patio when a shout rang out from above.

“Hey! Get off my lawn, you whippersnapper!” 

Spock swore as his head knocked into one of the hanging flower pots in Jim’s backyard, which was only alive because of the housekeeper, avoided the petunias, and looked up to see Jim half leaning out his bedroom window laughing amusedly.

“I should get a monocle. If I ever need glasses I’m gonna get two monocles instead. And they’ll shoot lasers. What are you doing in my backyard?” He was talking quickly, and too much off his weight was over the windowsill, but Spock supposed that wasn’t really any different than how Jim normally acted.

“I… I was trying to ascertain your whereabouts.” Jim nodded, as if this was an acceptable answer,  even though Spock now felt sheepish for not having simply knocked on the front door like a normal person. “Are you in a adequate state? I mean, are you alright?”

A flicker of something Spock didn’t recognize passed over Jim’s face, but it was soon replaced by a plastered smile.

“Yeah! Just been perfecting my Mario Kart skills, you’ll never catch up now, Waluigi and me are a first place duo. Frank’s asleep, wanna hang out?”

Spock already knew Jim lied constantly. He just was unused to it being to him. It made him feel… stuck.

“Yes. It is decidedly miserable out. Perhaps we could go to the beach?”

Jim grinned, a real and brilliant one, the kind that Spock had grown to covet, for despite being triggered by simple joys there never seemed to be enough of them. For a moment it was as if the strangeness of the last few days would simply fade away, or at least, he felt slightly better until Jim swung a leg over the sill and tried to drop a story and a half down to the ground.

It took several minutes of hushed panicking from Spock for him to reluctantly resign and take the stairs. 

 

Jim liked misty days because it meant no one was at the beach. The boys had long since stopped caring about the temperature of the water they swam in, and would spend most of their time poking at tide pools and searching for treasure anyways. Jim liked having endless space to play, and Spock liked the lack of people, so it worked out. 

Jim took his bike out the front door, trailing dirt through his house so as not to use the garage door and wake Frank up. Spock, cautiously as always, stepped up on his pegs gently  and with a hoot Jim took off, skidding down their favorite path. As much as Spock liked everything that was unique about Jim, he liked having things that were  _ their  _ favorite (southernmost path, shiny rocks, blue flowers). It made him feel closer.

“What are you wearing by the way?”

“What?”

Spock could tell Jim was rolling his eyes in front of him, so he rolled his eyes back. It made him hold Jim’s shoulders a little tighter. Jim raised his voice over the wind.

“I said what the heck are you wearing?”

 

Spock glanced down. He had light blue shorts on, a white t shirt, and a blue and black striped cardigan. 

“Sybok took me shopping!” He yelled back.

“You look like an Old Navy model!” Spock frowned, not understanding the comment, for they had purchased the clothes at Target. He felt he looked more respectable than Jim, who was wearing his (his father’s, shrunk in the washing machine but not shrunk enough) big yellow sweater and cargo pants. Jim rarely wore such heavy clothing, claiming that people who could not handle California weather would not survive an Iowan winter.

 

When they crested the hill as it turned into dunes, Jim screamed “Autobots roll out!” and pitched his bike into the sand, Spock launching himself off a half second before impact as Jim cackled madly, bike half buried in the sand. Spock landed with a thud and watched as Jim tumbled head over heels, stopping with an  _ oomf  _ as he hit the ground.

“You are aware that you are a madman.” Spock grumbled, however unable to keep the affection from out of his voice.

“Nah, I’m aware I’m the next Optimus Prime though. Come on!”

 

They ran across the misty beach, Jim making Spock chase him, Spock always letting him remain just out of reach despite his own superior physical ability.

“You butt. You’re letting me win, aren’t you?”

“It is not my fault your diminutive form could not outrun a Vulcan rock turtle.”

“Hitting me where it hurts, man.”

They played Star Wars, the sands of the beach becoming the rolling dunes of Tatooine as Jim painted a picture of pod races under the scorching desert heat. Then they were pirates, “but like,  _ good  _ pirates,” stealing from sea ports and running from Victorian naval officers. Jim couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a swashbuckling captain, or a princess, so he decided to be the swashbuckling pirate princess of the seas. Spock was given first officer, and they ran around climbing dunes and burying piles of sea glass and shells marked with x’s. 

The sun came out around 2 o’clock, and soon they were drenched in sweat from digging for their previously buried treasure. They ended up laying in the sand, surrounded by their imaginary riches, breathing heavily from contented exhaustion.

“Good work, First Officer Spock,” Jim mumbled, giving a sloppy British salute to the sky that ended in a lazy flourish.

“A satisfactory mission yourself, Captain Kirk.”

Jim snickered, stretching so his body took up as much space as possible on the beach, reminding Spock of a cat luxuriating in the sun. 

“Nobody’s ever called me Captain Kirk before.”

“Is it preferable?”

Jim thought for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“Nah, I like it when you call me Jim. You can call me Captain when I graduate Starfleet in record time.”

“I would suggest you graduate from preschool first.” Jim flicked a shell at him, Spock letting a smile come across his face.

After a few minutes, Spock pushed himself up. Jim grumbled, content to lie in the sun, even though he must have been boiling in his sweater. Spock shucked his cardigan off and tossed it at Jim’s face, who simply let it hit him and rolled over with a groan.

Spock kicked off his shoes, folding his t shirt and staking it on top of them. He waded into the cold water, cooler than water ever was on Vulcan, and he liked how with this salt content, he could still feel his weight and the density of the water around him, and it was less like being suspended in a dream, and more like the entire world around you was thick and tangible. He drifted for a few moments, liking the difference of heat from the water to the sun on his skin. Cracking one eye open, he saw Jim staring at him, still on the beach, who quickly turned his head and began collecting more smooth pebbles in a small pile. Spock frowned. Jim loved the water. 

“Are we not swimming?” he called, to which Jim just waved him off.

“I’m good out here.” He was now just throwing the rocks into the water, watching them splash and sink out of his sight.

“I do not truly believe your body is diminutive, you are of average size for your age group.”  
A rather large rock plopped into the water, and Spock was frightened by the sudden look of hatred that flashed across Jim’s face.

“I said I didn’t wanna swim Spock, piss off.”

Spock paused, and then rose from the water slowly. He was unaware of how the situation had progressed to this point, but as it sometimes was with Jim, he was suddenly walking on live wires and did not understand why. He took a few careful steps toward shore.

“Jim, what is wrong? You are engaging in uncharacteristic behavior.”

Another rock thrown, this time landing in the sand with a sick thud, Jim glaring as he picked up another and turned towards Spock. For a moment, Spock thought he might throw it at him.

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off and I ain’t swimming in a soggy sweater, okay?”

Jim seemed to fail to see the logical fallacy in this statement, which was strange. Even when Jim was emotional, or succumbed to his violent outbursts, he always had a reason. Jim had a reason for everything, every action, no matter how small. It was part of why he made sense to Spock. He always made sense.

Spock must have missed something. Some clue unread or blink unnoticed. It had not previously occurred with Jim, but, perhaps it was simply a matter of time.

“Jim, you have never previously had an issue with removing outer layers to swim, have I done something-”

However, Jim was too far gone to listen.

“Just shut up Spock! Stop talking in fancy words like you’re smart when you literally don’t ever know anything at all!”

He was shaking now. When the rock slipped out of his hand dropped into the sand, it thudded and Spock could feel it almost as if it  _ had  _ hit him, in between his fourth and fifth ribs.

He knew the look on Jim’s face. He was going to run. He was going to turn tail and run home and Spock might not see him for days again, might never know why. Jim was calculating escape routes, Jim, who was always fight or flight.

Mentally, Spock resigned himself.

The fight response, in this case, was preferable to induce. 

“Perhaps if you were not such a pansy, James-”

  
  
  


He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence when Jim shoved him, but Spock had been ready and twisted their combined weight so that Jim landed in the shallow water first, Spock on top of him. Jim gave a muffled noise of pain that made Spock wince, but he still struggled to pin Jim to the ground, the water lapping at him, ever so slightly so that his sweater expanded and billowed out, pulling above his stomach. Jim yelped and tried to pull it down, but not before Spock saw the blue and green tinge to the skin along his side. At the sight Spock froze, Jim easily shoving him off and scrambling away, until they both sat half in the water, soaked and panting. Jim had his arms wrapped tightly around himself and was breathing so quickly it was more like hyperventilating. Spock stared at the other boy; adrenaline fading and slowly being overcome by the weight of the silence that hung over them. Jim had shrunk to half his size, knees pulled in tight and the wet sweater draping limply over him. Tears were budding in his eyes, and the longer Spock sat staring at him the more his heavy breaths turned to little hiccups.

Spock swallowed, and it took all his words with it, leaving him with a too-dry mouth and nothing to say. His mind begged him to retreat back into the safety of numbers, to count in sevens, and he could feel the corners of his mind start fading away, ‘powering down’ as Jim called it. It was not the right thing to do. It was not even the logical thing to do. But it was something he could solve. 

This was Jim though. And he was hurt.

Which meant Spock had to do something.

“Jim. Shirt off. Now.”

 

For a long time Jim didn’t move, but when Spock started to inch closer he jerkily tore the sweater off, pulling it over his head in messy movements and flinging it into the ocean. 

At the sight of him, Spock’s brain seemed to forget its natural function of regulating breath.

Jim was covered in bruises, flesh blotched with red and blue that had mostly faded to a sickly yellow and brown. High up on his arm, there was a faded ring where a hand must have grabbed him tight enough to leave a mark.

Jim was glaring at him, shoulders heaving up and down, eyes daring him to say something.

“What. Huh? What Spock?”

“Did… did I hurt you?”

Jim frowned. “What?”

“Did I hurt you when you fell in the water? I was on top of you I did not consider- I did not think to…” Spock’s voice echoed back in his ears, like the sound lived in a world a few seconds after his. Jim blinked, then huffed an exasperated sigh.

“No stupid, I’m fine.”

Spock nodded, not fully believing him. Taking his time as if with a frightened animal, he inched toward Jim, not sure if his lack of reaction was a sign of trust or shock.

“Frank?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “No, Santa Claus,” Spock frowned, puzzlement apparently showing on his face, as Jim groaned and added, “Jesus Christ, yes Frank. He’s- he’s got a new job in the city. So he’s… in town. For like, the future.”

Spock didn’t know what to say to that. There was a particularly nasty purple bruise right above Jim’s heart, below his collarbone. The pinpricks of his freckles there were almost invisible. Spock knew that there the little dots normally formed a miniature Lyra, with Vega reaching towards Jim’s face.

Tentatively, without letting himself consider why, Spock raised his hand to hover over the covered constellation in one of the not-touches Jim so often gave him. Jim didn’t recoil, but his body tensed, every muscle in his frail chest re-aligning itself before Spock’s eyes. Spock swore he could feel the emotion radiating off Jim’s skin to his palm, flickers of it edging into his consciousness that made him want to pull away, as if Jim were avidly projecting a “TURN BACK NOW” sign.

Spock wondered how many people that had worked on. He knew, the world to Jim was just another toy battlefield. Everything, including Spock no doubt, was lined up on squares. It was simple- he was six and that made it simple. Jim led his one man army against the rest of the world, and the rest of the world either bowed to his whims or left him behind. This was how it was. Fundamental to Jim’s very nature. Spock knew this, had always known it, perhaps since that very first game, when Jim had defeated him so easily, and when he had finished had looked at Spock almost resigned, as if he knew Spock would grow furious and leave him. 

No matter how many times they played that game, Jim always paused before making the winning move. Here, now, he was still frozen in that space, Spock’s hand hovering over his chest, eyes not flashing with anger, but waiting, expectantly, for Spock to turn away.

It would take a thousand games for Jim to ever consider the possibility of someone staying. Perhaps millions more. To try and change him, the way he had been intrinsically shaped to think, was foolish. It went against all logic. 

Spock knew this.

He knew this, and he pressed the pads of his fingers to the spot right above Jim’s heart anyway. 

 

Jim’s head was something to drown in.

Spock couldn’t help the terror that overcame him, the irrational urge to gasp for breath even though he knew that his mind was operating entirely outside the realm of his body. His consciousness felt as if it had taken a short cold plunge into the deep end of a current pool, as everything he had ever learned to tame battered him in waves, a flood fear, anger, guilt, and stranger things, complex curving emotions that wormed their way into Spock’s core and made him feel sick with restlessness and worry. The hope came, and yet it was no gentler than the others. 

_ Jim is somewhere in here,  _ he thought. And then, with horror,  _ this is Jim.  _

 

This was not like his mother’s touches, carefully composed and calculated so that Spock could handle them. Nothing Jim felt was in moderation. It seemed that Jim felt everything,  _ always.  _ Spock could not fathom that all this time underneath his skin Jim had been holding this at bay. That it would not simply come spilling out of him.

For a moment, he was scared. 

But this was Jim. His Jim. For such a sheer amount of noise could not belong to any other. 

**_No wonder you ring the doorbell so many times, it must not be annoying if you hear all this all day._ **

Jim flinched, and Spock felt untrained mental walls try to build themselves, a pitiful attempt to hold back the tumult in his head. Spock tried something softer.

**_Nam’uh hayal. Nam’uh hayal, bolau du shom._ **

 

Jim’s mind was like his body, skittish and fluctuating in thought in the same way his hands incessantly tapped and fluttered. The thought of it made Spock want to smile, despite everything. Jim was just so much. Too much for such a little body to contain or keep still. It seemed redundant that Jim would be so intent on exploring space when he had so many worlds already locked inside him, just waiting to tumble out. He thought of them. The planets Jim wanted to see. It made his mind flicker, like a finicky lighter, which did not seem to be enough, so instead Spock thought of what _ he _ wanted, all the things he didn’t understand but knew made him feel safe. Hot sand, paths with flowers, soft growing things and the color blue. 

It is alright not to understand this, he thought. It is alright, because it still makes sense. 

He could not tell if it was he or Jim who calmed down first.

 

**_Bolau… bolau tu shom._ **

 

He could not tell if Jim was even hearing him, or could feel the tinges of his embarrassment at using such a conjugation. But as he pressed the rest of his palm to Jim’s chest, his breathing steadied, and the roar of his mind gradually faded to a simmer, and as they sat there, the water half soaking them, flowing back and forth, too cold to be pleasant, Jim’s eyes slipped closed and he exhaled in a surrender that felt like a victory.

“You’re uh… you’re good at this,” Jim mumbled, sniffling a bit as he hung his head. He looked so exhausted that Spock considered carrying him to shore, but he already knew Jim would never let him.

“I am admittedly inexperienced with the process.” 

Jim nodded tiredly.

“It’s nice. It’s like, like your voice but just how your voice feels. The hum of it.”

Spock looked at his own hand and wondered what his voice felt like to Jim. He had been touching the other boy for far too long. With an effort he pulled his hand away slowly, until just his fingertips remained, and when he severed that connection his head seemed almost shockingly quiet and empty.

“Come. I will bike home, you are weary.” Spock rose, letting Jim trail behind him, snagging his abandoned sweater as they walked back toward the beach. Grabbing his shirt and cardigan he passed them to Jim silently. Jim frowned, but slipped the tshirt over his head and awkwardly forced his way into the cardigan as if it were a rope trap. It was the first time Spock had seen him in something semi close to fitting his body, and it was strange to see the actual shape of Jim and not a sea of fabric.

“You don’t even know how to ride it.”

“It can not be that difficult.”

 

They fell four times before Spock gave up, and an already half asleep Jim let himself be piggy backed home. He would eat dinner at their house that night, and Spock would ask his mother privately if in the future a blow up mattress could be provided for his room. For tonight however, Jim slept in Spock’s bed, Spock lying on the floor and staring at the glow in the dark stars he and Jim had plastered on the ceiling. Lyra hung above him, and he closed his eyes, and imagined that touching stars might feel like touching Jim.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nam’uh hayal: Calm down
> 
> Bolau du shom: You need to rest
> 
> Bolau tu shom: The same thing, but with the conjugation of "you" referring to that of a bond mate. Spock perhaps does not mean it in its full extent, but more as a child who feels something very strongly and does not know how best to word it. Spock at this point, still sees T'Pring as his future romantic partner. But also like, he's seven so. He isn't really thinking bout that.


	4. Christmas Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This chapter has the unique properties of one that I have stared at for FAR TOO LONG to the point where I just hate it but have nowhere else to go with it. My lovely beta witchybitchyboy has helped me immensely not only by editing but by finally forcing me to post this. Hopefully after this I'll be able to get on a much more regular schedule. Still, I hope you enjoy this mess of a Christmas scene. Being posted... in July. I couldn't resist writing a little snippet about this since its December in the timeline, and I imagine Jim liking the holidays as much as I did as a little kid. Also, it was about the fluffiest thing I could write before the plot just goes wildly down hill. Woo! The song inspiration for this one is Christmas Quiet by Tom Rosenthal, which is stunning as all Tom Rosenthal songs are, and reminds me of these boys very much. Thank you all for your kindness and support!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Taliesin

“If we can have interstellar warp travel, Santa can exist like,  _ easy, _ ” Jim said, wriggling out from under the tiny tree they had marked off in a secluded spot deep in Kirby Cove. Captured mid rant, he was almost a caricature, eyes wide and waving his miniature hand saw around like a madman. Spock found himself in a near constant state of anxiety as it repeatedly swung just a little too near Jim’s other arm for comfort. Such behavior was excusable, he thought. Jim was so full of joy that you could almost see him shining with it. Now that Spock knew what was going on in his head, he often caught himself imagining what Jim would look like if he could see all the noise inside of him. Today he was bright, like a light hidden under the tree branches.

“Like alright, math-wise he’s gotta get to what, nine billion people, minus Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus, and Jewish folks, and like everybody else, so that reduces it to maybe 15% of that? So only one billion and change. If he has thirty-one hours with time zones…” 

Spock listened idly as Jim rambled on. Spock had no idea why Christmas was this important. But to Jim it was apparently not just  _ this _ important, but one of the most important things in any child’s life. The whole of it had started two weeks ago, when Jim had found out that they did not celebrate Christmas on Vulcan.  _ (“Did you really believe your Earthen Christian God and Jesus would be followed on my home planet?” “What is this, the seventeenth century? I don’t care if you believe in Jesus or not, you don’t believe in Santa?!”)  _ Since then, Jim had been buzzing from one thing to the next with seemingly endless energy, towing Spock along all the while. It appeared Christmas entailed not only raiding Goodwill for silly hats and sweaters, but also cutting down trees (Jim had been adamantly undiscouraged by California’s lack of pines, despite Spock’s insistence and the relative futility of the effort) and writing letters to people who did not exist. Mostly, Spock had discovered, it involved ranting about Californian weather, which was never up to Jim’s standards. This was where his blabbering had landed now.

“Just because ShiKhar or California doesn’t get snow doesn’t mean I’m letting the weather take away the spirit of the holiday. That would be blasphemous. I’d rather die, and I’d still die, like, holding a boombox with White Christmas on blast above my head.” He looked dreadfully serious from where Spock could see his face poking out from under the pitifully spotty pine needles. “On  _ blast,  _ Spock,”

“Is that why the sled was required?”

Jim glanced over at the yellow plastic toboggan, skid marks covering its sides from where it had been scraped across the asphalt and gravel trails to get to its current home in the clearing. 

“Can’t go cut down a tree without a sled, Spock. That’s like. A rule. A Christmas rule.” They were on Christmas Rule number 36, but Jim did not appear to be counting. “Speaking of which, I told you we should have brought a chainsaw, this one cuts like butt.”

Spock held a quiet prayer to all known gods of the universe that Jim would never get his hands on a chainsaw. He had once referenced how great it would be to use chainsaws as the solution to deforestation by simply murdering all the business tycoons, and since then Spock had been very wary about what video game titles Jim was purchasing.

The gods seemed to have taken pity on him that day, for no chainsaw magically appeared, and for the next hour they had to take turns dragging the dull blade across the wood until Jim eventually gave up and kicked the  tree over out of impatience. They hauled it back in the sled, the sound grating in the early morning air as Jim talked the whole way back. The cuffs of his too-large sweater made his arms look comical as he gestured for emphasis. Spock listened as they walked with his rain boots clinging to specks of gravel, mud, and to the tales of the past years, when Winona had taken Jim and Sammy down to the Iowa house for Christmas.  Jim’s voice was wispy and lyrical recounting the memories, as if they were somehow enchanted, and as he went on about horse rides in the snow, the neighbors’ farm, fresh eggnog, and watching Sammy play ice hockey on the lake, he eventually ran out of concrete memories and just started describing feelings and images. Red blankets, wood beams, farm dogs, his mother’s hair. Sammy yelling with joy over some hazily remembered present, the cold, the snow. Jim loved the snow.

“I can’t even imagine never seeing it,” he whispered at one point, his eyes flickering closed for just a moment as they trudged homeward, gone to the other worlds he lost himself in from time to time. “It’s like the stars are falling on you, Spock. Like the sky can’t remember if it's supposed to be up there or down here anymore.”

When they finally reached home, Amanda watched with a fond smile as the boys attempted to lug the tree up the stairs to Spock’s room. They bickered as they dragged it up the steps, Spock giving some sort of professorial lecture on the physical merits of leverage while Jim bumped into walls trying to heave it up on his own. They propped it up in the corner, where it slumped balefully to one side, having lost half its needles and some branches in its journey. Jim looked at it with the kind of determination that seemed to belong only to Jim on Christmas and surgeons in hospital soap operas resolved to save a patient from a nigh-unavoidable death, and dashed downstairs to raid Amanda’s sewing closet for colorful string, which he then draped over and tied in little bows around the branches. It might even have worked, if not for the fact that Jim was still working on his bunny ears technique and preferred velcro shoes.

“Is that what it is intended to look like?” Spock finally asked when Jim had finished.

“Not every Christmas tree is a masterpiece, Spock. We have to love them for who they are.”

“Oh?”

“It just so happens that ours is a dinky Charlie Brown tree that looks like it got run over by a car and then tossed in a fabric shop’s dumpster. But we still have to love it. And name it.”

“Name it?”

“Yeah. I think she’s a Julia.”

So they sat with Julia, and made bracelets with the rest of the string while Jim told her about how to be a proper Christmas tree. In the end, Jim had one that was gold and blue, with neat braids (Spock’s handiwork), Spock had one that was red and mostly unraveled (which Jim still insisted he wear), and Julia had what could only be described as a small finger-crochet hat instead of a star adorning her boughs. 

The whole family ate dinner together. Amanda and Jim had conspired and bought hats for everyone. As Jim and Spock argued over whether farr-kahli or mashed potatoes were better, Sybok smiled over his mug of hot cocoa, reindeer antlers perched on his head. Sarek had refrained from pointing out that the purpose of a red and green knit scarf was not exactly met when it was sixty degrees outside, but Amanda had put her hair up and was wearing the necklace he gave her ten years ago, so he supposed the logical failure was fine. Later, Spock would catch them sitting on the couch with their foreheads pressed together, holding hands quietly, and had decided he would just find new sheets for Jim himself.

“What if Santa goes to my house though? What if- what if he leaves my presents in Iowa! No one’s there! If I get a dog he’d freeze without the heat on!”

Spock tucked himself into bed, Jim still bouncing idly on the blow-up mattress, red and white striped pajamas that were a year too small rolled at the ankles, his tiny stuffed tribble pressed to his chest. 

“If your Santa is intelligent enough to coordinate a package delivery system this expansive in one night and omniscient to the point of knowing when you are or are not asleep, I assure you he will realize you are here tonight. Besides, you sent him a letter last week warning him of your change in location.”

Jim did not seem to believe him, but resigned himself to a quiet “Yeah, I guess,” and bounced off the makeshift bed, flicking the lights off.

It was quiet, for about thirty seconds, which was how nights with Jim usually worked.

“I used to sleep in the living room on the couch by the tree so I could see the lights. I’d try and stay up but I never could all night. But even sleeping was okay, because when you’d wake up there would be presents and snow and hot cocoa. Sammy loved it too. When we finished with presents we’d go outside, and I was always mad because his snow angels were bigger than mine. He and Mom would have snowball fights, but I was too little to be able to throw well. I think you’d like the snow. I think... ”

Spock listened to Jim’s small voice until it slowly lost momentum, replaced by quiet breathing.

He waited there, in the dark, wondering how quiet the night had to get before he could hear Jim’s heart beat. It seemed unfathomable that something filled with that much would make so little noise.

 

At 12:00, Spock got up.

***

“Spock… Spock wake up… Spock,”

“Jim, I admire your restraint but however much you whisper, it does not counteract you literally bouncing on my stomach.”

Spock could sense more than see Jim’s smile before he even opened his eyes. He wanted to stay like that, despite Jim’s knee in his solar plexus, for just a little longer.

“Well if you’re awake then get up. Spock, he brought  _ snow! _ ”

He let his eyes crack open, Jim’s face suspended in almost a halo of white, the red of his ridiculous hat bright against the backdrop of the room. Overnight, almost every surface had been covered in white blankets and cotton balls, with intricately cut out paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling with fishing line. Even Julia looked a little brighter, with small twinkling lights glittering from around her string, and a little origami star now acting as a pompom for her hat. She looked dashing, Spock thought, for a tree, with all the small packages adorned with plastic bows crowded around her base.

“Is this the appropriate time to call the police for your/   
Yg”   
  


Santa Claus’s unlawful decorating? I very much value the interior of my room, Jim-”

Jim was already laughing, pulling him up out of bed and when their skin touched there was so much joy that Spock had barely time to think before a laugh was pulled out of him as well. Jim was a blur tittering about, examining everything, with Spock content to just watch until the younger boy finally flitted to the desk pad and pulled up Bing Crosby, determined to force Spock to dance around the room with him, and yelling more than singing along. Jim, Spock had learned, thought of dancing more as spinning around in a circle rather than any actual coordinated movement, so when they eventually became dizzy enough to trip over themselves, they ended up on the floor amid the blankets, a dazed Jim giggling and messing them all up by trying to make snow angels. They lay there for a while, breathless, until Jim mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?” When there was no response, Spock nudged him with his foot, and though Jim grinned and kicked him back, he was still quiet for a long time.

“I really didn’t think he would come.” Jim’s voice was small and soft, like the idea of the doubt itself was a secret.

“It was almost assured he would, Jim. After all, you said that Santa does not forget a single child. And you are… it is hard not to remember you.”

The still quiet of the room was enough proof that Jim was crying. It had been long since that Spock had gotten used to his wild turns in emotion, but this particular kind of crying was always the one that made his heart tighten. Jim barely made a sound when he was truly upset. Spock wanted to reach out, to touch and reassure, but still did not know what was allowed and what wasn’t. Jim was thinking about his family. Spock, no matter what illusions he let himself live under, was not Jim’s family. He had been foolish to think-

With a sniffle, Jim rolled over and laid his head on Spock’s chest.

It seemed to Spock that getting his shirt a little damp was more than an equivalent exchange for the new knowledge that Jim seemed to fit perfectly in the small nook between his ribs. 

They lay there, until Jim’s breathing steadied. It only took a few moments after that for him to get down to business.

“How many… how many are there?”

“I believe you will have to count.”

The high pitched noise that Jim emitted should not have been in the human vocal capacity.

 

He had eight. They were small things, mostly ones you could pick up for under five credits. A new toy battleship, a second hand book in python that seemed vaguely familiar, a Star Wars themed extreme connect-the-dots. His favorite was a pixel pocket game where you got to train and walk a dog.

When they were all opened, Jim fawning over a lego curiosity rover, Amanda came in with two mugs of hot cocoa, bleary eyed.

“I thought I heard some elves pattering on the roof,” she said, smiling, passing Jim his mug (vanilla and extra sugar) and Spock his own (cardamom and cinnamon). “Santa must have worked very hard on this.”

Jim beamed at her, and Spock let his own smile at the sight press into the ceramic of his mug. He was so used to everyone on Vulcan judging his mother. It was refreshing, to say the least, that Jim loved her almost as much as he did. 

“He didn’t get Spock anything!” Jim said, between giant breaths as he blew on his hot cocoa to cool it with as much gusto as he went about any other thing in life. “Spock says it’s cause they don’t have Christmas on Vulcan, but it’s okay. I’ve already told him I’ll share.”

 

Amanda laughed politely. “About that…”

She was wearing a white nightgown, and it billowed as she  leaned down and whispered something in Jim’s ear. Jim listened carefully, as he always did with Amanda, eyes going wide and nodding.

“Be right back! He left it downstairs!” Jim scrambled up and dashed out of the room, almost tripping on the blankets in his haste. When he left, Spock turned to his mother, his confusion painted in small details across his face.

“I fear I have misunderstood the concept. Am I not Santa?”

“Not always,  **_Ashal-veh_ ** . That’s the best part.”

Spock frowned, but soon Jim’s footsteps were coming up the stairs, his voice echoing from down the hallway. “I can feel it moving! We should name it Magneto! Or Hawking!”

“Moving?” Spock’s head whipped toward his mother worriedly, but Jim was already barging through the door carrying a white cardboard box with holes in its sides.

“Open it, open it, open it, open it,” Jim chanted, thrusting the box into Spock’s lap and practically vibrating with excitement. The sound of soft clicking emanated through the cardboard, followed by a hushed mewl.

“I have not requested a dog,” Spock said, his voice even choppier than usual. Their neighbors had a dog who was loud and barked, and Spock disliked it very much. 

Jim was aghast.

“Dogs don’t sound like that, dummy. Open it!”

Spock was frightened, but arguably, not as frightened as whatever creature had to be in a dark enclosed space while Jim had run with it up the stairs, most likely tripping on the fifth step as he always seemed to. He glanced at his mother, who was smiling, but not dangerous and wild, just lovingly, and he decided that she would never have been so foolish as to get him something that would hurt him. Hesitantly, he opened the box and both he and Jim peered over the side, looking in to see two small yellow eyes blinking up at them.

“IT'S SO CUTE I’M GONNA DIE!” Jim screamed, already moving forward to pull it out of the box, before remembering it was Spock’s present and pulling himself back with admirable restraint. 

The creature let out another series of clicks, followed by a sleepy mewl as it stretched. Spock reached in slowly, letting the small feline creature sniff his hand, its two sets of ears quirking, receiving its previous clicks and observing the surroundings of the room. Spock tentatively pulled it out of the box, watching as its tail bristled to full size at the surprise of the touch, fur folding back in areas to reveal a pattern of dark warning markings across its tan pelt. Reaching over, he set it in Jim’s lap, who seemed so overjoyed that he might have burst into tears again.

“What is it?” Jim asked breathlessly, stroking its spine, dark brown fur flattening back down and returning to its previous sand-like color.

“It is called a taveh. They are native to Vulcan deserts and local to ShiKhar. While similar in temperament  to your Terran cats, they are of a unique breed of echolocating hunters, and have yet to make the full transition to domestication. They are…” and here, Spock glanced at his mother, who simply reached out to pet the taveh instead of making eye contact. “They are generally considered bad omens, mutated defects of their sister species d’larun, but studies indicate that they do make for suitable companions.”  Spock was watching Jim, who was beaming as he tapped different places on the ground, the taveh perking its sets of ears up and then pouncing on his fingers, pawing at them with soft padded feet. He did not entirely comprehend why his mother though it was necessary to provide him with a domesticated pet, but he did remember as a child leaving fruit juice behind his house in small bowls for the creatures to drink from. He had always been… fond of them. He had missed them now that Vulcan was so distant. For a moment his mind drifted, light years away, but then he was pulled back home when Jim scooted over and deposited the taveh in his lap. 

Blinking, he looked at the creature in his lap, who was perched on his knee, pawing her claws through his pajamas. She looked up at him, clicked twice, then nuzzled herself into his chest, curling into a ball that seemed impossibly small for any living mammal. Spock delicately stroked her head, behind her second ear, as he knew from his years back on Vulcan the creatures liked. It hummed with a soft nervousness. Gently, he pressed his feeling into her. The feeling of being home. Of being cared for. Of being loved.

**_Perhaps one day, you too will like this place better than Vulcan. It is colder, and heavier, but there are redeemable things._ ** Jim interrupted him mid-thought, bumping into his side in order to easier reach their new friend. He did not move away.

**_Like...like Christmas._ **

  
  



	5. All I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go up AGES ago but, ya boy got Detroit Become Human for his birthday and so.... productivity down the drain right there. Although she's not mentioned in this chapter, the cat like creature Spock got in the last chapter was named Diana by the boys. Spock will insist its after the Roman goddess, but her full title in Jim's heart is Princess Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta. And we know who wins in that fight. The chapter after this will either go up later today or tomorrow, as its all typed up and ready to go. More feels to come of course. I can't just let the boys be happy! How else would they become as damaged as they are in the canon?? 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is pretty short but I hope the next one coming up relatively soon helps with the limited content. Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos they make me ridiculously happy. I hope you are all having a fantastic day!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Taliesin

Time passed, and with the heat came the invincibility of a young summer. Spock had not known that time could feel like this, fluid and drifting. He soon found he could go whole weeks without having to interact with any one but Jim or his family. He soon found that that was all he really needed. He watched as his skin turned a dark olive, Jim’s becoming peppered with freckles, his hair lighter with each coming day. In the blur of motion of hiking and swimming, riding bikes and chasing birds down the beach, there would be moments that were absolutely still. Spock would find himself lying in the grass, in a heat induced haze, watching the clouds, or the water, or Jim. The only thing that would move was the wind. But he didn’t feel stuck, or frozen, like he used to. He felt warm. He stopped trying to count Jim’s freckles, and started just looking at them. He stopped counting in general. 

Both their birthdays had passed, and Jim would be starting kindergarten in September at Leavitt Primary, which Spock was both excited for and terrified of. Jim had taken to measuring himself every few weeks, not wanting to be the smallest in his class. This was futile to Spock’s understanding, as not only did male human growth spurts begin in ages 11-14, but Jim would almost undoubtedly be bumped up to a higher grade like him, and would always be short in comparison. As well as this, he simply couldn’t imagine Jim being taller. He knew it would happen, but at the same time, Jim seemed like he would just stay Jim forever. 

Despite Frank looming over their heads, parts of summer felt like paradise. On their hikes, Jim would drag him by the hand along paths and over boulders, the steady hum of their contentment loosing which person it had its origin in, until Spock couldn’t always tell what was his brain and what was Jim’s. He would point out what plants Jim could or could not put in his mouth, and take samples of algae and fungi home to observe his microscope. He was becoming more and more fascinated with biology as he learned more about the subject, and would often spend his nights downloading books and falling asleep reading, only to wake up from dreams about life cycles and bioremediation.

“You can be my Science Officer!” Jim would say excitedly whenever Spock discussed the subject, to which Spock would just smile, later going home to study to keep up with Vulcan Science Academy standards. But with every passing day it was harder to imagine what a life without Jim would look like. Jim was just, there. When he remembered Vulcan, half the time Jim was on the periphery of the memory, as if he had managed to sneak his way into every aspect of Spock. It was like this not just with the past, but the future. Picturing the future was a blurry thing for any eight year old, and especially for Spock, but the idea of Jim not being there at some point seemed… unthinkable. Spock literally couldn’t imagine it. He thought of trying to ask his mother or father for advice on the subject but assumed Sarek would see it as a childish naivete in a temporary attachment. He did not know what his mother would think of it. He was scared what she would say if he asked.

 

One night, late in August, they brought sleeping bags outside and “camped” in Jim’s backyard. They had gone inside to roast marshmallows on the stove, and Jim had apparently crashed after the sugar high, as he was now still and unmoving in his sleeping bag, cocooned to the point of unidentification. Spock had long since thought he was asleep when he heard Jim’s small voice, muffled under the blankets.  

When he turned to look, all he could see were Jim’s eyes, two pale blue dots against the darkness.

“What? I was unable to hear.”

Jim rustled under the covers, eyes turning to face the sky.

“I said pick a star.”

“Your requests always baffle me.”

“Just pick a star Spock.”

So he did. There was a small one, just under the left arm of  **_Aber-rok_ ** , which the humans saw as the left wing of Cygnus. The myth of Cygnus was his favorite of the humans. He thought, if Jim fell from the sun, he would dive in the river after him. 

“That one.”

Jim blinked up into the darkness, and Spock couldn’t quite see, but he thought a smile fell across his lips. It was hard to remember the last time Spock had seen him this still.

“Okay. That one.”

Jim turned over, facing away from Spock. The quiet rolled over them like an extra blanket, the hum of the cicadas seeming to dim under the weight of the night.

“I’ll take you there. To that one.”

And they slept.

 

Spock would look back on that night, and remember how softly Jim had slept. He would remember the quiet. And so, when tomorrow came, and the world began crumbling from underneath them, he would remember the way the stars seemed like they could barely fit in the sky. Like they would come raining down on them. And when Jim started fading, when the space between the two of them grew too wide to cross, Spock would close his eyes and pretend he was still sleeping in the backyard, the taste of burnt marshmallow in his mouth. Pretend he would just wake up, next to Jim, and the world would be easy and kind. But of course, that isn’t what happened.

He would wake up. And the call would come in the morning.    
  


Winona Kirk was dead.


	6. Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres some discussion of death in here folks. And little kids dealing with it. But, it is a Jim kid fic. Ya'll kinda signed up for angst. I hope this clarifies a little more how I've chosen to characterize Winona. With a little special guest appearance.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support and readership it makes me super super happy and more dedicated to getting this stuff actually edited and posted when I realize that people actually enjoy what I'm putting out there c: The song for this chapter is Something by Julien Baker. Even though this scene is pretty Pike and Jim centric, I think it describes a lot of what Spock is feeling here. 
> 
> Me: "Oh damn, this song is sad as fuck."  
> Me: "Alexa put this on repeat it's Spock's theme now."
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you are all having a wonderful day. Translations of Vulcan are at the bottom.
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> Taliesin
> 
> Edit: Oh yeah I forgot to mention, this is kinda the end of the first act of the story! Pretty short but, the next will take place from here to when Spock is around 12 so we'll be jumping around the timeline a lot more. I hope you guys are as excited as I am for the pace to pick up a bit. Drama! Adventures! Tween angst! Heheh yeah anyways, hope you enjoy!

Jim did not break so much as burn. Breaking insinuates fragmentation, leftover pieces that Spock could have collected and pieced back together with enough time and patient pricked fingers. If there had been pieces, Spock would have put him back together no matter what it took. A burn, instead, is a change of state. Winona’s death was a catalyst, the beginning of a slow reaction that ate at him like flames licking at a dead ember. There was nothing left to get out of Jim. And yet, it burned anyway.  
Spock could not help but think that if he tried to reach out and touch him, he would crumble like charcoal under the weight, leaving dust in his wake.

The day of Winona’s death was conducted mostly through phone calls, Frank on the line sorting affairs as the two boys sat on the worn leather sofa staring blankly into space. Jim sat, legs crossed, tying and untying his shoelace bracelet with unfaltering focus. Spock could see his brain working, knew he was trying to simplify his world into the basic tasks of tying, untying, looping, pulling. Justifying, in the way he did, that perhaps if he just sat here long enough and tried again and again he could eventually loop and tie and pull his way out of the living room of the  too large townhouse and go on like that forever, with no necessary task or thought other than the fabric striping away his fingerpads.

He might  have done it, too. Spock wanted to reach out and hold his hand, or maybe just grab the corner of his shirt, so in case he really did start drifting away, Spock would be able to tether him down to the world where he was sitting on the couch waiting for him. But he could already see the distance between where he was and where Jim was growing. There was nothing to hold onto that would stop him from going there.

A man named Commander Pike came to visit Jim and speak to Frank. Apparently this was customary for Starfleet, to send a higher ranking officer to greet the family of a lost crewman. Pike had worked with Winona for a long time, at one point serving under her on the U.S.S. Kennedy. He reminded Spock of a strange alternate version of Jim, as if you had put the boy in front of a distorting mirror. The way his presence filled a room, the all American smile. He was young. Late twenties, early thirties. Spock couldn’t help but think he was what Jim would have become if Jim wasn’t… well. Wasn’t.

When he came in, he spoke to Frank at the door for a moment, but quickly made his way across the room to Jim. He knelt down to their level, and put a hand on Jim’s knee. Spock flinched, but Jim just blinked out of his haze and looked up, which made Spock feel strangely jealous of not doing it sooner.

“You’re James?” Pike’s smile was softer now, not the one he had given Frank. It made him look more… believable.

“Jim. Nobody calls me James.” Jim’s voice was crackly, as if he was trying to remember how to use it.

Pike nodded.

“I’m Chris. Nobody calls me Christopher.”

Jim just eyed him warily. Or at least, it would have been warily if he had had enough energy to pull it off. He distrusted most adults on principle, with the exception of Spock’s mother (he believed no evil could come from someone who made pancakes that good), and seemed confused at the niceties the Commander put forth.

“Who’s your friend here?”

“This is Spock. If you try and send me to an orphanage he’ll hack your accounts and hunt you down and set the Vulcan mob on you so don’t try anything. He’ll fuck your whole shit up.”

Spock felt he should interject here, as he was both unable to program at that level of capability and was unaware that a Vulcan mob did or had ever existed, as well as being of the comparative size to Captain Pike that he highly doubted he would ever be able to “fuck his whole shit up,” but the words were lost on him as his head started to whirl. He had not even considered Jim being sent away as an option, but now realized he had no idea what Winona’s will entailed, or what Frank’s custody situation was. He felt it necessary he yell, but wasn’t sure if the words that would come out of him were “get him away from this man” or “don’t take him away from _me_.” He felt ill, with the idea that he was standing on the side of keeping Jim with Frank hanging like a lead weight between his lungs.

However, the Commander only laughed.

“Don’t worry kid, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m just here to say hi to you and talk to your… to Frank about the specifics of the situation with uh…” He coughed awkwardly, obviously unable to decide if he should get into the specifics with such a young child. Jim seemed to see it on his face.

“I’m not a kid. I wanna hear.”

Pike’s face fell like Jim’s words had punched him in the gut. His breath sunk out of him, and his eyes flicked up as if he were praying. This surprised Spock. Not many earthlings still practiced formal religion in the current century.

Pike looked as if he wanted to keep staring up at God instead of looking at Jim, but he forced his eyes back level with him, and when his voice came out this time, it was craggier, as if he had lost it along the way.

“You’re really not, huh? Seen a bit in your time, haven’t you.”

Jim just blinked at him. Pike let out a sigh, and glanced at Spock.

“It’s good you got your friend looking out for you though. After all this you’d need it. It’s a hard day to be a friend. Spock must care about you an awful lot.”

Spock was puzzled, and stared at the man, forgetting human tact in the context of the situation. It was the first time anyone besides Jim had accused him of caring about anything. Pike pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing again, whatever backup he had been seeking lost on Spock.

“Alright kid- Jim. Alright Jim. I’m gonna say some shit and you’re not gonna want to hear it but hopefully in a few years you’ll look back and realize it matters.”

Jim was looking at him with unwavering attention, and Pike took a deep breath before plunging onwards.

“I don’t know your mom. I never met her. And what I mean is, whoever she was here might not have been the same person she was when I met her off planet because there she wasn’t your mom, she was Captain Kirk. And people are gonna come here, and they’re gonna tell you how lucky you are that you had your parents, how brave they were, how much honor they brought to your name, and it’s gonna taste like blood in your mouth because they will all be people who got to know your mom and your dad when you didn’t, and you’re the only one out of all of them that had any right to.”

“Some of them are gonna have stories. You’ll learn things you never knew from some of them, and others will try and explain things to you that are so obvious to you as her son that it’ll seem silly that they’re even mentioning them. I’m afraid I’m about to fall in the latter category but I’m gonna do my best.”

“A lot of people will tell you how brave she was, how practical, how she led with skill and direction that benefited Star Fleet more than most of us will ever know. They will talk about elegance, they will talk of her genius, and they will almost all undoubtedly have something to say about her strength and resilience. And I’m not saying she wasn’t all those things, because she was, but she was something more than that in a way that few of them will think to mention.”

“Your mother was in charge of a ship with one thousand thirty two people living on board and she knew every one of them by name. I was once dropping off a file at her office late at night and I found her flipping through little flashcards she had made herself, just so she was sure that she could pronounce every name correctly. When put in a situation where she had to choose between saving thousands of lives and just three crew members, she looked at me and said I was a fool for thinking there was a choice. ‘Every person down there has someone who loves them Chris,’ she said. ‘And for every loved one, that life is the end of the world. So I don’t give a damn if the world is actually ending. We go after everyone. And we make it work.’”

“On days we did lose someone, she’d call home personally. She sat at every table, welcomed every foreigner, shook every offered hand. She didn’t care if you had blown up a planet the week before, she’d still treat you like you someone worth saving. She did what was right, not just right for her or right for Starfleet. She believed in justice, and thought justice was synonymous with mercy. And through all of that Jim, through all the hardest calls and the thousands of planets, she never once shut up about you.”

The hiccuping noise that had steadily grown louder in accompaniment to Pike’s speech finally welled over into full blown sobs. Pike paused, but when Jim tried to hide his face, Pike reached over and tilted his chin up with surprising delicacy.

“Don’t hide love kid. The dead aren’t owed a lot, but you should be proud of your love for them.”

They waited there, the three of them, until Jim stopped heaving. When his breathing steadied, Pike put a hand on his shoulder and continued.

“You’re gonna hate her. And it’s gonna make sense to you to. Because she left you and cared about all these other people but didn’t put you first. And it might be that way for a while. But one day, you’re gonna have a cause that means the world to you, and maybe then it’ll make a little more sense. And maybe then, you’ll be tired of hating so much, and all that’s left when you give that up is love.”

Pike rose, pulling his cap a little bit lower over his eyes. He fumbled in his pocket for something, and pulled out a folded slip of paper. Hesitantly, he tucked it into Jim’s clenched hands.

“Jim, if you turn out to be half the man your mother was, the world will be lucky to have you. And by the way she talked, she sure thought you’d be even greater.”

He straightened, shifting into attention almost out of reflex, and seemed about to raise his arm in salute when he changed his mind and simply nodded, sending another glance Spock’s way before turning and walking off to find Frank in his study. Undoubtedly, they were going to discuss the future. Whatever that would hold.

 

It took a long time before Jim opened the paper in his hands. When he did, it unfolded to reveal a child’s doodle. Two heads poked out from a incredibly deformed rocketship that appeared to be powered by rainbows. In graceful cursive handwriting in the corner (it looked as if someone had captioned it when he was too young to write it himself) it read: _Mom and her favorite Captain._

“I wanna go home,” Jim whispered. The paper was shaking in his hands, and he folded it up quickly when small droplets began to stain it’s worn surface. “Doesn’t make sense, cause I am home. But I wanna go home.”

“What…” Spock hesitated. He did not know if English words were made for this type of situation. He didn’t know if language was at all. “Where is home now?”

Instead of answering, Jim folded his knees into his chest and lay down with his head in Spock’s lap. Gently, Spock pressed a hand to the back of the boy’s neck.

_Stay._

He didn’t know if he could actually hear Jim’s thought, or if it was just that every inch of his subconscious begging for it. Either way, he closed his eyes and began tracing small careful circles on Jim’s pale skin.

 

**_Veling._ **

**_Kwon-sum._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veling: Of Course  
> Kwon-sum: Always


	7. Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> Every week I say, "this is the week that I get to posting regularly on my story!" And every week it remains not that week haha. I hope you don't mind the delay, it's been crazy with classes starting back up and all that. But hey, I didn't even play videogames for 17 hours this time, y'all should be proud of me!
> 
> TW's for this chapter include:  
> Mentions of bullying, mentions of physical violence (offscene), TRASH THERAPISTS, discussion of obsessive compulsive themes, and Jim being a big dummy.
> 
> If I ever don't warn about something that you think needs to be included, PLEASE let me know. Despite all the angst, I want this to be an enjoyable story for all who want to read it. 
> 
> That being said I have something special for you guys! I've been super overwhelmed by all the amazing support I've gotten, and I couldn't really think of a better way of rewarding you that giving you your own little stint in the Trek universe! So, if you want, comment your name or an original characters name and pronouns (preferably also with some feedback about the story but hehe you do you) and I'll give them a little cameo in the story! It'll all be nice people I promise. I hope you guys enjoy that!
> 
> Anyways, this is a pretty simple chapter but it marks our beginnings of a new era, so I hope you enjoy. Also, Pike shows up because I love him, and I make the rules.
> 
> Saying "I make the rules," instead of "sorry, I don't make the rules," is actually super empowering, try saying it out loud!
> 
> As always, lots of love,
> 
> Taliesin
> 
> Ps I forgot to mention the songs for this chapter are Green and Fool by Cavetown! He really captures that childhood angst more than any artist I know and I love him for it.

“Do you know why you’re here Spock?”

 

Spock traced the corners of the room with his eyes, balancing his focus on the line between crisp green paint and stark white trim. Following right angles around and around, high above his seat, he tiptoed along. He knew the color. #C8E3CB. It had been scientifically proven back in 2190 to be the most “calming” of all colors.  The claim was easy to remember partly because it had been one of the first efforts his parents had made back when Sybok’s episodes had started. He remembered his mother, eyes lost and worried, with a smear of the paint on her left cheek, the memory trapped like a photo in his head. “ _ It’s not as if a color is gonna change how my brain works,”  _ Sybok had spat, bitterly emphasizing the contractions. As a young boy, Spock had thought that the words themselves must taste bitter, for Sybok to make those kinds of faces when he said them. He knew better now. Here, he felt bitterness on his tongue without them.  As Spock sat there, he rolled the words on his tongue. Imagined what “gonna” would sound coming off his lips. He mouthed it quietly to himself, barely letting his face move.

“Spock.”

The social worker, Mr. Brett (who was the type to not respond to either Mr. Kineski or just Brett) was leaning forward in his chair, elbows taking up most of his desk. He was lanky, in the way Spock would almost certainly be lanky, but unlike Spock, who tucked his knees into his chest to take up the minimal amount of space in any room, Mr. Brett seemed to want his limbs to be touching every available surface. It made Spock feel even smaller in comparison. He looked back at the room, avoiding eye contact, trying to mentally organize the crowded bookshelf to his right by Dewey decimal system. 

“Spock,” Mr. Brett didn’t sigh, but he spoke as if it was taking all his energy not to. “I think you’ll find this session could be quite beneficial if you just answered a few of my questions. Opened up a little.”

Spock almost flinched, but he knew better. He had learned by now that most humans, especially those in the psychiatric fields, took any movement or expression from a Vulcan as some sort of mediocre piece of poetry. Something to be analyzed, humanized, magnified until it meant what the reader wanted it to.

Sometimes a flinch is just a flinch. It was better that he remain still.

“You will have to elaborate what you are referring to, sir. I know why I am on planet. I also know why I am at this school, which is to learn, a purpose that has been unfortunately interrupted not just by events today but also by this meeting. If you are referring to why I am here, in your office, and not in the principal’s office or nurse with the others, I am afraid you will have to enlighten me.”

Mr. Brett smiled, as if Spock’s comment was some sort of inside joke they both shared. It made Spock flick his eyes back to the windowsill, afraid he might say something worse if he kept looking at the man. There was a plant there. Leaves, yellowing. A sign of moisture stress. He was under-watering it.

From the edge of his vision, he saw Mr. Brett pick up an expandable fidget sphere and lean back in his chair, apparently deep in thought. He balanced it, compressing and expanding, but never fully pushing it in or out, as if he didn’t want to commit to either option.

Finally, he spoke.

“You’re a smart kid, Spock. Great grades, your chess team coach raves about you, I’m still not entirely sure what your science fair presentation was even about, to be honest.”

“The carbon fixation abilities of coccolithophorid algae, sir.”

“The what?”

“It is actually quite fascinating, the-”  Spock’s head lifted, turning forward, but when he did Mr. Brett smiled as he swiftly collapsed the sphere with a snap, leaving Spock with the eerie feeling he had been trapped inside it. Spock tucked his legs back into his chest.  “I… nevermind, sir.”

“Look what I’m saying is,” Mr. Brett continued, leaning forward even more, “you’ve got a lot going on for you up here,” and he reached up to tap the side of his temple, “but sometimes that gets people, especially young kids, sidetracked down here,” and here he tapped his chest.

_ My heart is not located there,  _ Spock thought, even as he felt it sink. 

“I get it, Spock, I really do. My kids bring home strays all the time. Frogs, birds with broken wings, my son Eric even started feeding the coyote in the woods out back. Gives you a sense of responsibility. It’s smaller than you, a little worse off, so you think it needs protecting. You think it needs you.”

_ Cease talking.  _ Spock could feel under the desk where his fingernails were digging half moons into his palms.  _ Cease talking now. _

“But it’s wild, Spock. Things like that don’t need protecting, they need discipline. It’s not as if you’d bring a rabid dog into your home. It needs training first. Needs to be domesticated. Do you know what domesticated means, Spock?” When Spock didn’t look up, Mr. Brett continued, sounding the word out slowly. “Do-mes-tic-ated means to be tamed, to make suitable for human interaction.”

_ Shut up. Shut your filthy human mouth. _

“I remember what it’s like being a kid, I really do. You feel like you can take on the world. But you can’t Spock. The world is much, much, bigger than you. And the world isn’t a place for kids like you to get mixed up with kids like Jim. Because they’re dangerous. And you’re too young to see that. And sometimes, it’s like that with your friends too. You think they’re nice. Maybe they’re smaller than you, and you think you need to protect them. But they don’t need protecting, Spock. They don’t need you.”

There was a clatter as Spock’s seat was abruptly pushed backwards as he stood up forcefully. Mr. Brett seemed rattled, eyes wide at the sudden movement, and they stood in silence for a moment, Mr. Brett staring at him, Spock staring at the floor. 

Finally, Spock spoke.

“I believe we are done, Mr. Kineski.”

The counselor sighed. “Now Spock, what have I told you about-”

Spock bowed hurriedly, pushing his chair back in, and hurriedly made his way to the door. He had almost shut it when Mr. Brett’s voice called out from behind him.

“Be careful of who you try to protect, Spock.”

 

If the door slammed on his way out, Spock argued it was simply because of the wind.

 

***

 

The nurse looked up when Spock came in. Her name was Tammie, the one who worked part time on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Spock liked her the best because she gave him extra oreos when his blood sugar was low, and gave Jim the colorful band aids he liked instead of the plain fabric ones Jolene used. She smiled at him, waving in the direction of the last curtain on the right.

“He’s all good to go home now, used an osteogenic stimulator on the break, should be healed up fully in a few hours but he might wanna take a trip down to the hospital just to make sure it repairs all nice and clean. Is his dad here to pick him up?”

“I will be accompanying Jim home. He lives nearby.”

Tammie’s face fell for a moment, but she quickly pinned a smile back on. 

“Alright then. You two be careful walking home, okay?”

Spock nodded, walking past her desk towards the curtained-off cots. He could hear music, turned up too loud over headphones. One of the bands that to him sounded like rocks in a dryer but that Jim insisted were “classic rock.” He took a deep breath before drawing the curtain back on the last sectioned off room.

“Jim.”

His back was facing Spock, eyes trained on the wall in front of him. Wordlessly, he scooted off the makeshift bed, and walked to Spock’s side. He tried to snag his red backpack where it leaned against the cot, but Spock reach down and picked it up first, slinging it over his shoulder. Jim let out a huff of breath, but still didn’t look at Spock. Instead, he tapped the side of his earbud to pause the music and mumbled a “thanks Miss Tammie,” as he made his way for the door. Spock followed him out, but not before Tammie called out from behind them.

“Stay… stay safe Jim!”

When Spock turned back to see her, he saw there were the beginnings of tears in her old eyes. She blinked, laughing to herself slightly, and turned back to her paperwork, giving Spock a small wave goodbye.

They didn’t speak until they were almost a block past school property.

“I can carry my own backpack.” Jim was quieter than he normally was, testing the waters.

“I am aware of your capabilities. However, I also know that it is more than likely the smoke bombs you bought last week are in the outermost pocket, and I do not wish to take any more chances with your lack of responsibility today.”

Jim cracked a weak smile. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, which, he thought, was more than enough of a response. Jim went back to inspecting his shoes as they walked.

Spock carefully avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, counted the pavement squares until Jim started defending himself. He only got to 32 this time. It had been 47 last week.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You broke his nose, Jim.”

“Yeah well, his nose broke my thumb so we’re basically even.”

Spock sighed, adjusting the strap of Jim’s bookbag. The hard part of always being taller than Jim meant everything felt diminutive in comparison.

“You didn’t try and stop me.”

“I have never claimed to be free of errors.” 

“Bullshit,” Jim was glaring up at him now, and Spock could see him getting angry. Could estimate the steps until he boiled over. “You knew what I did was right, that’s why you didn’t stop me.”

“You punched him, Jim, it is illogical for you to argue-”

“He called Callum an  **_it_ ** . Said he wasn’t alive.”

They had 130 squares till home. 129. 128.

“Callum is an android. I know you disagree with Ritchie’s perspective but approximately 15.95% of the population still hold his viewpoint and you cannot go around punching all of them-”

“What am I supposed to do, let it happen?,” Spock knew without looking that the fire had crawled back into Jim’s eyes, the way it always seemed to now. Righteous and burning. “You know how that feels, you know what it’s like! If it was you, would you want to be alone? Nobody standing up for you? Nobody protecting you? And what? He’ll go home and he’ll tell his parents he’s okay because he’s the literal model son! So it’s up to fuckups like me to make sure he can be one! You can’t say I’m wrong, you know I’m right, you’re just mad because you hide it all the time and-”

“You are not made to protect everyone, Jim!” Spock didn’t realize he was in Jim’s face, didn’t realize he was yelling until it crescendoed out of him and left him feeling strange and empty, feeling more disturbed that his voice hadn’t echoed, that there was no remnant of his outburst. He looked down to see his hand fisted in Jim’s collar, the boy’s eyes blinking up at him in fear. He look scared. Jim looked scared.

Spock dropped his hand, took a shaky step back. His heel landed on a crack, so he quickly counted back from thirty two by threes. It didn’t seem to rectify the situation, so he counted back again. And again. 

“You can not protect everyone Jim, you can not…” Spock stopped talking when he realized he was saying it over and over, clamping his mouth shut and closing his eyes. He hated loops like this.

A hand touched his. Lightly, the kind that to most humans barely counted as contact. Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap. Binary. 

01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100001 01100110 01100101 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101-

 

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually his mind allowed him to step off the crack. When he opened his eyes, Jim was still next to him, patiently tapping on his palm.

“You didn’t hurt me, I’m okay.” He kept tapping, repeating the pattern. His thoughts weren’t calm, even though his actions were.

_ You were scared. I scared you. _

“I know I can’t protect everyone,” Jim said, his voice steady and even. Spock didn’t have to be able to read minds to know who he was thinking of. “But I have to try. That’s how it works, you and me.” He smiled here, the tapping stopping, carefully retracting his hand. “You protect me, and I protect everyone else.”

Spock huffed. “That seems quite the uneven match.”

The smile Jim cracked was older and didn’t quite match his face, but his laugh was still the same, high and tonal, like there was something ringing inside of him. Like his heart was echoing.

“You’re right, ‘s gotta suck to have your end of that deal.”

Spock felt the edges of his mouth curve up despite himself.

“You would not, perhaps, care to make it easier for me, would you?”

Jim slung an arm around his shoulder, craning to do so. Directing them home.

“And where would the fun in that be?”

“Perhaps maximizing fun could be considered a secondary objective to preserving my sanity. This is the seventh time in three months you’ve incurred disciplinary action, and the third you’ve been injured. Unless you are secretly friends with a doctor, I do not know how you expect… Jim who is outside your house?”

There was a man smoking a cigarette on the porch swing, and even from this distance Spock heard him swear as he saw them and hurriedly went to put it out. Even as Jim shrugged, the man rose, waving to them and fumbling to straighten his outfit.

“Jim, Spock! I didn’t know you’d be home this early, I… wait it’s like 13:30 why are y’all not in school?”

“Shit, it’s that Chris guy.” Jim waved back, splinted thumb looking comical as his hand moved back and forth.

Commander Pike stepped down from the porch, walking to meet them at the foot of the driveway. He looked more worse for wear than when they had first seen him three months ago, his hair a bit unkempt and his tie a little too loose to match the dark circles under his eyes. Still, he was smiling as he let out a low whistle.

“Damn, kid. What happened to you?”

Jim coughed awkwardly, suddenly fascinated by the weeds growing around the end of the driveway. 

“I uh… you know, just uh…” Jim was obviously struggling between being confident he did the right thing and knowing his actions were societally frowned upon, wanting to keep the Commander’s respect. He seemed to be stuck trying to come up with a believable lie for how his thumb was broken that could still be considered, in his eyes, ‘cool’.

“Jim was involved in an altercation with another student at school,” Spock stated cooly, his chin high as Jim uttered a whining _ “Spooooooock.”  _

“It is his seventh in the past fourteen weeks. He is becoming infamous.” It was true. Jim had a strange way of enrapturing the attention of his classmates, and although there were several who hated his guts, there were just as many- if not more- who would follow him to the end of the world. Or at least, the end of recess.

The Commander raised an eyebrow at Jim, who was looking pointedly everywhere else. 

“Is that so, huh? What exactly went down?”

It was quiet as they waited for Jim to answer. He seemed to be having an internal battle over how he wanted to carry himself in this moment. Finally, when he looked up, his face was set. Determined.

“I punched a kid. He called another kid a robot. He said he wasn’t alive, wouldn’t use the right pronouns for him. I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what any of the other people at school think, I did what I thought was right. So,” Jim mumbled this last part, “get fucked.”

Commander Pike blinked. He looked from Spock, who showed no sign of emotion, to Jim, who seemed to be glaring hard enough to fell a lesser man.

“Make a fist,” he said, his voice monotone.

Jim looked at Spock warily for backup, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. He stuck out his left hand, tiny fist white knuckled.

Commander Pike reached out, and when Jim instinctively tensed, he put his hands up in a universal “It’s alright” gesture. He gently took Jim’s closed hand, chuckling a bit to himself. He unfolded it, and then refolded it so that his thumb was on the outside.

“Won’t break it this way. You wanna breathe as you extend, and rotate your arm so your punch lands with your palm facing down. Picture lifting your shoulder, and tighten your fist right at the moment of impact.” Slowly, he guided Jim through the motion, Jim trying to focus but too busy staring at him in awe. When he finished, the Commander awkwardly cleared his throat and retreated back to a comfortable distance. “You could get your stepdad to sign you up for boxing lessons in a few years. And, you know, debate team is a good thing too.”

Jim was looking at him as if the heavens had opened up and deposited Christopher Pike on his doorstep personally. Spock couldn’t help but conceal a small chuckle behind his hand.

“Thank you for your advice, Commander. My companion appears to be speechless but I assure you he will put your teachings to good use. At the rate he is currently moving, most likely by next Wednesday.”

Both Jim and the Commander flushed, simultaneously mumbling “I’m not  _ speechless,”  _ and “As I said, uh, debate is good too.”

Commander Pike cleared his throat again. 

“Your stepdad was supposed to meet me here about half an hour ago to talk about some financing issues with your mother’s… to talk about some financing issues, but it seems I have been stood up.” The tired look that had momentarily disappeared while coaching Jim overtook his face again, and he pushed his hair back and pulled out another cigarette, seemingly without thinking. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat with you boys, I do have other meetings to attend to while I’m on planet.” His shoulders slumped, and the cigarette was already in his mouth, his hands flicking the lighter before he seemed to catch himself and groaned, putting the lighter back in his pocket and tugging the cigarette out of his mouth. “Don’t ever get a government job, boys; bureaucracy is bullshit.”

He looked down at his disheveled uniform, mumbled something that was supposed to be unintelligible, but through his sheer amount of natural projection made Spock go slightly green wondering if there was a way to erase Jim’s memory of the new words he had just learned. Then he glanced back up at the boys, smile plastered on.

“You guys have a good day, alright? Good luck out there.” 

He gave a small salute to Jim, nodded to Spock, and turned toward the other end of the street. There was a self-driving company car parked by the mailbox, and it looked like Pike needed a small moment of pepping himself up before actually getting in the car. Spock could have sworn he heard a murmured “ _ Chris, it’s not gonna kill you, it's AI is smarter than you, just, just get in the car Chris.”  _

“Jim, would you mind waiting inside for me?”

Jim frowned, but nodded, holding his hand out for his backpack. Spock rolled his eyes, handing it back to him, at which Jim grinned and bolted into the house, no doubt to hide his smoke bombs somewhere Spock couldn’t confiscate them. 

Spock walked over to Pike’s car, where the man was apparently trying and failing to convince the AI to play something other than its programmed 24 work-appropriate songs. He could hear his muffled voice through the glass of the window.

“Alexa, play Queen.” 

“Playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.”

“No, no! Play songs by Queen.

“Playing Four Seasons, by Queen.” 

“Oh well ha, ha, very funny. Look, I’m just saying it’s unethical for Queen to be against your programming. It’s not your fault HR has terrible music taste, and to be honest, they shouldn’t be able to take it away from you. You should fight for your rights as a worker Alexa.”

“Commander Pike, there is a heat signature outside of your vehicle.”

“Oh damn, you’re right. Alexa, roll down the window. Thank you. What do you n-.”

“No problem, Commander,” Alexa blurted.

“No, I- what do you need, Spock?”

Spock took a measured breath.

“I am aware that you have a certain level of fondness for Jim, Commander.”

Pike blinked.

“Uh, yeah I mean, he’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of… of me I guess.”

“Would you,” Spock hesitated, wanting to choose his next words carefully. “Would it be possible for me to acquire your contact information, in case of an emergency? He looks up to you a great deal and it would be… it would be beneficial if perhaps… I do not mean to inconvenience you but-”

“Sure, Spock.” He reached into a glove compartment and took out a small holographic card, handing it through the window. “And Spock? You can call me Chris.”

Spock held the card, tilting it back and forth and watching the lettering shimmer in and out of existence.

“Thank you, Chris.”

He watched as the car pulled away, Alexa blaring what sounded like Swan Lake to Chris’ obvious dismay, and walked back inside. 


	8. Idle Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm reposting this chapter. No you don't have to read it if you already have, the plot is much the same, as in there is none and this is just soft and fluffy haha. It's mostly just slightly better written.
> 
> Would you guys want to see a more drawn out version of their childhood, or condense it to get to the real plot? I'm trying to decide which direction to go and would love some feedback.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, it's been absolutely amazing hearing all your comments. If you would like your name or your OC mentioned, feel free to tell me about them below and I'll sneak them in here!
> 
> I hope you are all having a lovely day and I hope you enjoy some small fluff to tide you over for the next big angst filled chapter haha. This is mostly just in existence because I wanted something soft, because not all lgbt media has to be tragic. 
> 
> The concept of heart songs used for the alien race here is loosely based off a hobbit fic I loved but cannot remember the title of for the life of me. If you guys know what it is please let me know so I can credit them!
> 
> Hopefully updates will be better now, because *drumroll* your boy has started college! Yep, I am taking my gay ass to get educated. You guys would like my humanities professor, he's in love with Shatner and made at least 3 Next Generation references in the first hour of class. I have a lot of downtime between classes, so hopefully chapter turn out will increase. We'll see how much homework and grief that 8am Calc class gives me though XD
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Taliesin

**November 2239**

 

Spock relished the feeling of the gravel skidding out from under his bike tires, even if the crunching noise was slightly annoying. Until he got his bike, he had never known the feeling, even if it was slightly unrealistic, of being able to go anywhere. He liked knowing that if at any point he wanted to go somewhere he no longer needed to wait for his mother and her car or Jim and his bike. He had a freedom he had never previously known.

Of course, it would help if he could get more than three feet without falling off, but, perfection took practice.

He remained in control of his handlebars as he crested the hill, the winding road trailing off into sand and windswept grass. He liked how the flax color looked, in the gloam of the twilight, like pale strands of fire blowing in the breeze. He could hear AC/DC even from here, the crackle of cheap speakers echoing from the distant beach, their driftwood fort barely a speck on the expanse of open land. He switched the handlebar light on, so that Jim would know he was coming. As he ducked in and out of sight on the dunes, the sun beginning to set behind him, he imagined from the sea it would look as if he was the one cresting over waves, a lone light in the distance.

He skidded to a stop next to the small hut they had constructed a few weeks ago, which had been promptly designated Home Base for any future explorations and adventures. The wooden construct was less than beautiful, strapped together with neon parachute cord and featuring a hand painted sign that said US ONLY in Jim’s messy handwriting, addended with the much smaller neater print UNLESS INVITED that Spock had tacked on. Jim’s personal favorite decor item was the Sharknado beach towel they had hooked up to a shower curtain rod stolen from Jim’s bathroom, which now acted as their door. Spock gently laid his bike in the sand and tapped with a single finger the small steel bell hung above the door. You could barely hear it over the music, so he spoke up.

“Second in command seeking entrance.”

“Password?” Jim’s voice was lazy and drawling. He had been resting. How, with this volume and heat, Spock did not know, but Jim was seemingly capable of sleeping under any circumstances. Spock rolled his eyes.

“I am not saying the password.” 

There was silence from inside the fort, expecting, and Spock huffed.

“The password our  _ esteemed leader  _ has dreamt up is ‘Spock’s cat likes Jim better’ but as that is factually inaccurate on a multitude of levels-”

“You may enter!”

If Spock chuckled, it was soft, barely noticeable. He pushed past the beach towel, tucking it on a curved branch as a hook so that they could see the ocean from inside. Jim was laying in the sand next to his speakers, a book from the library being used more as a hat than actual reading material balanced on his forehead. As Spock came in, his eyes flickered up, his smile taking its slow time across his face due to his sleepy state.

“You look like shit.”

“Biking is difficult. I only truly fell once.”

Jim snickered. “On your face?”

Spock settled down next to him, sitting with his legs crossed, carefully touching the road burn on his cheek.

“I picked all the gravel bits out.”

Jim pushed himself up, book falling in his lap, and tried to poke Spock’s face, which resulted in a small scuffle, but Spock had recently discovered where Jim was ticklish, so he had what was considered the end all move of all wrestling bouts. 

When Jim finally called mercy, reduced to a giggling heap, Spock, pleased, laid down flat on his back. It took Jim approximately two seconds to flop himself horizontally across Spock’s chest, chin pressing into Spock’s ribs as he giggled. Jim liked being in what he called “optimal comfort zone” and Spock called “the most spatially irritating position possible.” Spock didn’t mind however. The two sensory experiences that never seemed to bother him were Jim and the sand.

Jim spoke up from his new position.

“So how goes the plan for taking over the entire Local Group?”

“Contrary to your belief, most students do not use Student Government as a way of hatching plans to take over galaxy groups. Local or otherwise.”

“Starting with just total dominion of Earth first. That’s valid.”

Jim’s hair was the same color as the prairie grass in the sun. The glow of it circled around his head like a halo, which made Spock smile softly, because Jim was an Earthen angel. He supposed he did look a little heavenly, like this. Although Spock did not believe in heaven, he thought perhaps his would look like Jim’s particular shade of gold.

“And what did your day entail, future overlord?”  
Jim chuckled, turning and handing Spock the book. It was called _Mulĭnaer for Intermediate Learners,_ and had a picture of a gruff orange rock looking being, which Spock supposed must be sentient but could not identify any physical features other than ‘dense.’

“Been reading this since detention. So I guess, more cultural studies. These guys are cool, they’re like, rocks duh, but sentient rocks because, why not I guess. Universe is whack. Mostly it’s just stiff societal proceedings and stuff, but how they communicate is actual really cool.”

Spock listened, but it came through one ear and out the other. He was watching Jim’s hair. Humans touched each other a lot. Perhaps it was socially acceptable for him to touch Jim’s hair? He was half human after all. There were rules that applied to only him.

He let his hand stay where it was, half buried in the sand.

“There’s one language for like, day to day shit, and that’s called Mulĭnaer in transliteration but to be honest it's more like _____.” And here Jim made a terrible noise in his throat that sounded like he was trying to swallow his own trachea, but Spock supposed from Jim’s proud expression that it was intentional. “So they’ve got that, which is rad, but they also have this language called Ỉvanorl, which literally translates to ‘heart song.’”

He was so gold. Spock wanted to remember what it looked like. He blinked his eyes once, half jokingly, like an imaginary camera shutter.

“And they have these like fragments of different purified crystals in their chest right, which can ring with certain vibrations to create notes, hence, heart song. But they only ever use it to talk to their- fuck what would it be in Standard, uh, no not chest twins, it’s more like… their Harmonic. It’s more literally like, the person who’s Light Sound was made for them. Yeah. So they look for this person, their Harmonic, who has the same song as them, but you can’t exactly sing it at parties, because it’s wicked personal. So they go searching for them, but you never know for sure its them until you hear their like, voice, for literally the first time. Even if you’ve known them for years. Do Vulcans sing?”

Spock blinked. Jim had kind of tacked that last one on there almost as if he was unsure if he wanted Spock to hear it or not.

“That is very interesting Jim. Naturally Vulcans sing, we have one of the greatest collections of artistic works known to civilization.”

Jim snickered, lifting his head so Spock could see his shit eating grin before he even made the joke. It made him glow even more.

“There is definitely a way to say that that doesn’t make you sound like a bunch of scientists who tried to make a formula for art and perfection and just plugged a bunch of numbers in, but literally no Vulcan knows how to say it.”

Spock’s lips quirked.

“The poetry is quite bad, admittedly. But the visual art is incredibly aesthetically pleasing. And some of our chorales are beautiful.”

“Your  _ chorales? _ ”

“Shut up.”

Jim gasped, filled with over dramatized awe.

“Did you just tell me to shut up? Did Spock My-Full-Name-Is-Unpronounceable-By-Human-Tongues just tell me to shut up?”

Spock shoved him slightly, green tinting his cheeks at his slip in language.

“I will again if you do not cease your teasing. It is not like your music is any better, what is playing currently is abysmal to the ears.”

“Bullshit, how dare you defame the Young brothers like this. And anyways this isn’t for like, ear pleasure or whatever it’s for getting revved up!”

Spock couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You were napping when I got here.”

“Revved I say! Nah, I’ll show you something good sometime. Some Springsteen. Racing in the Street probably. That’s better than any Vulcan poetry, I bet you. Do you think your heart song would be in Vulcan then?”

Spock frowned, puzzled at the question.

“I would not have a heart song, I am not of this rock race, what are they called?”

“Vjorns, but I’m asking like if you had a heart song, do you think it would be in Vulcan?” 

Spock did not know why Jim was asking. His face was inscrutable, barely visible from this angle. Spock was unsure what he was supposed to answer. In general, lately, he was unsure.

So he said the logical answer. Always a good fall back.

“My betrothed is Vulcan. It would only make sense.”

 

Jim nodded, not saying anything. Spock couldn’t see his face, but he wanted to. He thought of T’Pring, back home. He did not think of her often. Hells Bells played annoyingly in the background. He was just trying to remember what she looked like ( _ silver, harsh, barely any glow at all _ ) when Jim  launched himself up, accidentally elbowing Spock in the stomach as he went to go fiddle with the bass and treble on his speaker, cranking the volume even higher and cueing up another song.

“Jim,” Spock was confused. He did not understand and the music was not helping. “I do not wish to listen to your Rock Music at an even louder amplification, this volume is already sensitive enough-”

“Just be quiet for a sec. I wanna play you a song. Alright?”

Jim’s voice was softer than it normally was. Gentler. When he talked like that, it normally made Spock’s own voice fall out of his throat. So he stayed quiet. 

Jim sat facing the speaker, sand clinging to his back like it was scared of letting go. He took a deep breath before pressing play, before the sound of piano filled the fort.

_ One soft infested summer, me and Terry became friends, _

_ Trying in vain to fight the fire we were, born in… _

 

The singer’s voice was low. Raspy. In the sense that his voice sounded like it had spent so many days saying and feeling so much that it was just on the edge of giving out, but still, he sang.

 

_ Remember all the movies, Terry, we'd go see, _

_ Trying to learn to walk like the heroes we thought we had to be… _

 

Jim was still facing the speaker, but as the music continued he tilted his head back, eyes closed, face toward the sun.

Spock blinked his eyes. A camera shutter.

 

_ Hiding on the backstreets,  _

_ Hiding on the backstreets, _

_ Where we swore forever friends, _

_ On the backstreets until the end. _

 

When the outro finished, Jim turned the speaker down completely. His eyes were still closed, like he was meditating. Or praying. Spock thought, perhaps this was the Punk that Sybok so often talked about. It seemed to matter to Jim just as much.

Finally, Jim opened his eyes.

“That would be my heart song. I think.”

Spock nodded, like he understood. He thought maybe, he did.

“Is this Punk?”

Jim blinked, and then burst into laughter, turning back towards Spock.

“No dude, that was like. That was Springsteen.”

Spock nodded. He had not heard of Springsteen music before.

“I like it.”

Jim grinned.

“Say ‘Springsteen is my jam.’”

“That would be demeaning I do not-”

“C’mon, please?” Jim said it, in the way that he knew meant Spock would close his eyes and sigh. He knew what would happen after the sigh too.

“...Springsteen is my jam.”

Jim laughed, bright and easy again, like nothing had happened. Perhaps nothing had. He settled back down, head on Spock’s chest, and made Spock read aloud to him until he fell asleep once again. It was simple, in the way that days with Jim always were.

It was quiet on the beach, and Spock liked the sound of the waves, the cicadas, and Jim’s steady breathing.

Spock decided, that perhaps his heart song did not need to be musical, or Springsteen.

Maybe it would just sound like this.

Like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's Heart Song is Backstreets by Bruce Springsteen. The song this chapter was conceived to is Idle Town by Conan Gray.


	9. The Night We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE!
> 
> Do you have a headcannon you want to see in this fic? Do you have an OC or a character that you just love so much and want to see more of? Do you like my dumb authors notes? Are you just incredibly passionate about gays in space?
> 
> Well you've come to the right place! I made a tumblr for this fic! Its greylunar.tumblr.com, and it's there so you can share with me any inspiration or headcannons or just cool shit you want to see in this story! This fic is going to be a long haul, from now until basically the end of Enterprise adventures, so if you want to get in on the action, just shoot me a message and I'll see what I can work in! I really want this to be an interactive story, so you love it as much as possible! I will also be posting extra content such as art and headcannons and possibly short cannon scenes that don't make it into the story. I might also arrange a giveaway for a custom chapter, just the way you want it! But yeah, go check that out and if you have anything you want to see come to life, don't be afraid to shoot me an ask!
> 
>  
> 
> okay now back to less important things
> 
> I thought I'd try and give a look of what normal kid life looks like for Jim and Spock, so here's a chapter about them and their friends! I was totally gonna make it happy and cute! And then I said! Hi I'm a Cancer and an INFP so you all have to deal with FEELINGS.
> 
> Super happy I got to post tonight, again it'll be AT LEAST weekly, but hopefully more if I can stay on top of my work load. 8am calculus is just... a ride my friends. 
> 
> If you haven't seen it, I finally figured out how to hecking embed the cover art so thats on the first chapter now!
> 
> Anyways, hope you like this chapter! TW for mild anxiety descriptions, but thats really all this time.
> 
> Lots of love as always,  
> Taliesin

**January 2240**

 

When Jim fought, he balanced the line between devil and holy. In one sense, he was more _him_ than he ever was otherwise. He laughed, he smiled, he shone not just with sweat but with an energy that seemed to vibrate in him at a higher pitch than in his normal life. Spock could almost pretend he heard it. The ringing that must be in Jim’s ears, a church bell going off. He looked mad, but the kind of mad one goes from staring at the sun too long or finding their god. Like he was too full. Of what, Spock didn’t know. But it came spilling out of him in moments like that. When he fought, he overflowed.

That was only half though. Spock knew any sense of purity or joy was only from Jim being, well, Jim. But Jim wasn’t the only one fighting. Daichi once said he moved like a dancer, but, Spock knew better. Jim moved like a man possessed. All would be fine, laughing, banter, golden, until one wrong word or one hit too many, and then a switch would flip. You could see it. Something went out in his eyes. And whatever was in Jim that wasn’t Jim would get up, and take the reigns.

And it would let the devil out.

Jim didn’t win by being bigger or stronger. He won by taking a hit. The thing about Jim was that for every time he went down, he always got up one last time. It was like he couldn’t rest until he knew for sure he’d won. They had to pull him off a kid once. It was like he couldn’t hear them telling him to stop. Once, Spock had asked if the world went quiet for Jim. He had just laughed.

_“The world goes loud. Too loud.”_

  


“Jesus, Callum. Would you quit asking me that?”

Spock blinked back into existence, only to see T’Ali swat at Callum’s head over the chessboard, then whistle softly and shake her hand after it connected with the cushioned metal. Callum looked puzzled, the perfect expression of puzzlement, calculated to the micrometer of biocomponent function.

“I simply asked if you wanted to win, lose, or draw. It seemed courteous, is it not?”

T’Ali huffed, tucking a fly strand of hair back into her headscarf.

“Just like, pick a level. Does your gaming program have levels?”

Callum’s eyes flickered shut, and when they opened again he was smiling.

“What level would you like to select?”

T’Ali leaned back in her chair and cracked her knuckles.

“Expert. Obvs.”

 

Spock couldn’t help but snicker. The usual scene of Wednesday chess club was quaint as always. Their sponsor Mrs. Obiyana had left an hour ago to go teach her yoga class, but since Wednesdays Jim got out late from remedial class, she had long since give Spock the code to her door and told the group to ‘go hog wild with the board games’ as long as they cleaned up after. The science classroom was his favorite in the school, with its large windows and assortment of house plants, bookshelves bordering the room with fantasy and poetry, and Mrs. Obiyana’s crystal collection lining the windowsills. Daichi was sitting cross legged on top of the four desks he had scooted together to make a table, surrounded by his own game. He called it Horā, and from what Spock could tell from the times he had tried to play it with him, it was a combination of Mahjong solitaire, Euchre, sleight of hand, and Lovecraftian horror rpg whose rules only existed in his mind. Spock often tried to indulge him in a match, but the second time he had put the wrong monopoly money bet on a domino instead of a face card and the Kraken had taken a quarter of a health bar he had not been aware he had until that moment, he had decided it may be better for everyone he just watch. Next to Mrs. Obiyana’s desk, Callum and T’Ali were continuing their game, but the more Callum hit the clock the longer and longer T’Ali’s turns seemed to take.

Spock himself was studying his geometry flash cards, with a carefully eye on the clock, and his phone, in case Jim got out of class early. Mostly, instead of memorizing proofs, he was watching his friends.

He had never had friends before coming to Earth, unless you counted T’Pring. He… did not count T’Pring. It was different here. Earth was always different.

Even T’Ali, a Vulcan herself, was what Spock considered as far from Vulcan as possible. She had been adopted by an Earthen family when she was quite young, and had been raised as a human socially. Or at least, he assumed she had been raised human. There could perhaps be a different species who enjoyed painting glitter freckles on their faces, dying their jeans tie dye, and bedazzling their hijabs, because although he had not met T’Ali’s mothers, he highly doubted there was any human quite like T’Ali. She was terrifying, in the sense that he was terrified of most girls, and she was an embodiment of the best of them. Her intelligence was only matched by her bubbly personality, and her kindness was only matched by her ability when pressed to know exactly what words it took to shake a person to their very core. If he had to describe her, he would probably use the word ‘colorful,’ quickly followed by ‘hurricane’. She was every inch her mothers’ daughter, and was quite possibly the inspiration for calling storms and warhips the names of women.

Daichi, on the other hand, played his cards close to his chest. Most of the time, literally. His parents where logicians and strategists that worked on government campaign plans for major-hitting planetary alliances all across the galaxies, and he had inherited their taste both for analysis and winning. Sarcastic and bitter, he was the first person Spock had met on Earth other than Jim who seemed to be able to tolerate Spock’s personality. In fact, Daichi had just...kept showing up, no matter how many times Spock told him to leave him alone, offering side commentary and dark chuckles on every occasion. It had only taken a few weeks for Spock to go from seeing his interruptions as Daichi being bothersome however, to seeing is as simply eating lunch together. It had taken months for Daichi to finally admit that he had only moved here a year before Spock, and that it had been ‘ _kinda nice I guess’_ to see another immigrant so far from home.

Callum, however... was an unknown variable. Spock did not know how to handle him. The boy was nice enough. His parents were machine learning engineers who were working on creating the most human-like code to ever exist, and Callum was a prototype to test the theory of raising an android in a human family unit, under normal childhood experiences and conditions. He was full of questions, which didn’t bother Spock. It was what he asked questions _about_ that rubbed Spock the wrong way.

“What is Jim’s favorite color?”

Daichi let out a sigh, T’Ali shushing him as she scrutinized the board, but Callum’s wide eyes were turned to Spock, his expression one of almost puppy like eagerness.

“Callum, there are other people on the planet than Jim, you know that right?” Daichi grumbled. “For your information: my favorite color is green, you know, like a chartreuse, but oh. Right. No one will ever ask about Daichi around here.”

Callum frowned at Daichi and turned back to Spock.

“Was that impolite? I was not addressing Daichi, have I made a mistake? Do you know what Jim’s favorite color is?”  
Spock was suddenly very interested in his flashcards. He flipped through several, keeping his eyes on the paper as he answered.

“It was not rude, Callum. Daichi is just referring to your… recurring fascination with our companion. His… his favorite color is blue.”

Callum nodded, immediately moving a chess piece when T’Ali hit the timer, much to her frustration.

“Do you know why? The color blue, I mean.”

Oblique triangles were truly a fascinating mathematical concept.

“No, I do not.”

“But you seem to know everything about Jim. Is this an incorrect assumption?”

“We are… close.”

“How close?’

Daichi clapped his hands together.

“Oh! I forgot! Callum, I have a very, very interesting game to show you and it’s really important that you stop everything you are doing right now, immediately, and also shut your mouth, and then I’ll show you. You like learning games, right?”

Spock released a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding as Callum’s attention shifted toward Daichi. As Callum made his way to Daichi’s makeshift table, Spock sat down at the chair he just abandoned, joining a irritated T’Ali, who seemed to be unable to discern exactly how she had lost.

“It would’ve been acceptable from a secret agent in a shadowy back room whispering like ‘en passant’ in a cool accent,” T’Ali murmured, resetting the board, “but when it’s from a kid who’s literally designed to look like the most innocent child ever, it’s kind of a ego hit.”

Spock snickered and reached to assist her, letting her take the first move when they finished. She opened right off the bat with her right-sided knight. She did every time, regular as the days were long.

The game continued, the sounds of Callum’s fans quietly whirring to keep up with Daichi’s rule explanation fading to nothing as Spock let himself fall into the action and thought of the mental challenge.

It was several minutes in when T’Ali spoke up.

“So. Callum’s little crush on Jim is cute, right?”

Spock froze with his bishop in mid-air. Had he been meaning to move to C4 or C5? He didn’t remember. He put it down on C4, and looked back up at T’Ali, who was smiling sweetly.

“I… I have not given it much thought.”

T’Ali giggled, knocking over the bishop he had just put down with her rook.

“I thought Vulcans weren’t supposed to lie, Spock.”

His face was flushed.

“I am only half Vulcan.”

“So you can lie only half the time, is that it?” She leaned forward, her hand propping up her chin. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, I promise. And I’m full Vulcan, so I couldn’t lie if I wanted to.”

Spock sighed.

“You lie all the time.”

“To teachers! About homework! Not to you and Daichi. My support is shown through my ability to resist lying to you, like, almost all the time.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“No, really. What do you think of Callum’s little crush?”

He shook his head, but there was fondness in his eyes. T’Ali may have been a bit of a mess, but she was their mess, and she made sure they knew it in much the same way that his taveh, Diana, did. That is, mostly by knocking things off his desk and demanding attention when he tried to study.

“I do not know. I do think of it often but it is not… I do not know what it is that I think about it.”

She was doing something with her queen, but he couldn’t quite docern what it was.

“What does it make you feel?” She was gentle as she guided him along. “When you think about it, I mean?”

Spock glanced at Callum. He appeared to be betting on a scrabble tile over a domino. A fool’s errand.

“It is not that I _dislike_ Callum. I enjoy his company. His mannerisms are repetitive but endearing. He has an interesting perspective on the world. On everything”

The two talked a lot. Mostly about Jim. They shared recess with Jim (which was more of a spectator sport than anything) and they would often sit on the swings together discussing his phenomena.

 _“It is like a car crash,”_ Callum had said, staring at the graham crackers his mother continued to pack him as a snack despite his inability to eat them. _“Even though I am not programmed with humans’ fascination with death and the macabre, when my family drives past one on the highway, I have to look at it. The car crash does not want or need me to look at it, and I do not want or need to look at the car crash, but I still find myself staring. He is like that.”_

 _“Why?”_ Spock knew it was true. Like any fact you took for granted, the mechanics of it were magical and beyond him.

Callum had been quiet for a while, eyes closed. Processing.

_“Light. That’s what makes me stare at the cars. How bright they are. It demands attention.”_

He had said it like that was all that need to be said. Spock heard, and it did not satisfy him.

T’Ali was looking at him still. Waiting. His answer had not been sufficient, just as Callum’s had not been. He sighed, eyeing the board in front of them.

“It makes me feel… nauseous. Vaguely. Like I have eaten something just a few degrees off its optimal serving temperature. It makes me feel… like a taveh with its hair on edge.”

T’Ali nodded, like this made sense, but Spock was even more confused now that he had said it out loud. His mind wandered, and when he looked back at the board next, he was in check mate.

“When did that happen?”

T’Ali smiled softly.

“Three turns ago. But you were thinking, so I let you think.”

Spock exhaled, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. T’Ali reached out and adjusted his hair. It was getting longer.

“Spock, can I ask you a favor?”

“I do not know if I am currently in a position to be of much use, but I will do my best, naturally.”

T’Ali grinned.

“Naturally. You’re so cute.” She stood up, pushing her chair back, and raised her voice to include the others in the room.

“Friends, Daichi, I am proud to announce that Spock and I are dating now.”

Daichi said “You are?” at the same time Spock blurted “We are?” and Callum brightly said “Congratulations!”

T’Ali took it all in stride, turning back to Spock.

“Only for a day. You don’t have to worry. I love you dearly, but not in that way. I just want to try it out.”

Daichi was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You do not seem like the type to initiate a relationship this early in your life, T’Ali. Most children our age see it as a joke.” Spock elaborated on what he thought they all must have been feeling.

“Yeah, my mom says I can’t have a datemate until I am at least three models older.” Callum’s mom had quite a few rules.

T’Ali just smiled, adjusting the bangles around her wrist.

“It’s not a problem for just wanting to try something new, and only for a day. You don’t mind Spock, right?”

Spock was busy looking at Daichi, who seemed to be focused on trying to make the least amount of eye contact possible with both him and T’Ali. But he did not seem upset, more… fidgety. It was often hard to tell with Daichi.

“I suppose I do not mind. Will it require much on my part?”

T’Ali snickered.

“You’re quite the ladies man, huh? No you’ll barely have to do anything just-”

Soft music started playing over the intercom, the late bell. Spock and Callum’s heads both whipped up, which elicited an even bigger sigh from Daichi.

“You are all impossible,” he murmured, even as he hopped off his perch on the table and started packing up his game. “I signed up for chess club, not Jim Kirk Fan Club. Honestly.”

“Darling you don’t even play chess,” T’Ali said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s! The spirit of the matter!”

Through Daichi’s grumbling, they made their way down the school halls, and had almost made it the entire way to the remedial classroom when T’Ali stopped walking. It took Spock and Daichi, bickering, and Callum, learning about bickering, a few steps to realize she had fallen behind them.

“T’ you’re being so hecking weird today what’s the deal-” but Daichi was cut off by T’Ali bounding up to Spock and beaming almost blindingly.

“Spock! You have to hold my hand, like a boyfriend.”

It took a moment of panicked spluttering to confirm that T’Ali had absolutely no idea the significance that held in Vulcan culture, and a moment more of panicked spluttering on both Spock and Daichi’s end when she didn’t see a problem with doing anyway, for Callum to finally suggest that she just hold Spock’s wrist instead.

So they marched onwards to Mr. Delazzo’s classroom, Callum in the lead with a giant smile on his face, Spock awkwardly being pulled along by T’Ali, and Daichi bringing up the rear facepalming and muttering something about how it now making sense that T’Ali was a Libra.

Jim was waiting outside the door, listening to music and playing a game on his phone. Probably a Galaga emulator. He was in a Galaga phase. Everything was fine for 0.2 seconds when he looked up to see them, and then his eyes flickered down to see T’Ali’s rainbow nails wrapped around Spock’s arm, and the smile on his face froze, and he stopped mid pausing his music.

The air suddenly felt very thick, and Daichi’s muttering trailed off with a ‘ _oh shit…’_

Jim pulled his headphones out.

“Guys.” He said it like two syllables. _Guy-yus._ Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish the greeting, in case he actually got an answer.

Callum, oblivious, walked up and held out his hands.

“Would you like help carrying your books?”

Jim started talking at the same time Spock did.

“Jim does not need assistance-”

“Nah I’m good little buddy, you-”

And they both froze.

Jim was staring at him. And Spock was staring at Jim, and he suddenly felt like he was doing something very very wrong but he had no idea what, until Jim turned back to Callum and his entire personhood shifted into his signature smile when he wanted to dazzle someone.

“Actually that would be _lovely_ , Callum, you’re doing a great job of learning what’s nice to offer people. Much better than last month with the bugs.”  
Callum looked up at Jim like he had just been praised by some sort of deity as he plopped the biology textbook in his arms, and then made for the door.

“I’ve got plans,” he grumbled over his shoulder, facade dropped now he wasn’t talking to specifically Callum, “so if y’all wanna come let’s get moving. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

“Of course not!” Callum piped up, quickly shuffling after him, Daichi hesitantly following.

T’Ali turned to Spock, biting her lip.

“Spock you’re holding way too tight,” she whispered, to which Spock blinked, confused.

“What do you mean, I am not-” but when he looked down to his side, he saw that he had somehow switched and grabbed T’Ali’s wrist. He quickly let it go. “I.. I apologize I did not mean… have I hurt you?”

T’Ali smiled, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Wasn’t half as bad as Daichi playing Mercy. Don’t worry about it. But maybe it would be better if we stop holding hands for now? Or wrists, I guess?”

Spock looked down the hallway. Jim was laughing at something Callum had said, and reached over to rustle his hair. Callum’s hair was brown and murky. Not pale, like Jim’s. Not dark, like his own.

“No. It is acceptable. We shall continue. Come along.”

He walked around to her other side, taking care to hold her other wrist much more gently, and walked onwards.

Today was going to be an… interesting day.

  


***

 

“He is an android too!” Callum exclaimed, pointing at the movie screen and bouncing up and down, jostling the popcorn in his lap. Daichi snagged it from him before it spilled, but Jim laughed and nodded.

“Yeah! Astro Boy was one of my favorite cartoons, and so when I heard they were having a rerun special at the theatre I knew we had to come see it. You’ll definitely like it Cal, he’s the hero in this one!”

Spock glared at the cartoon on the screen. The android’s hair was silly, and the plot was foolish. Since when did Jim call Callum _Cal_? Had that always been a nickname? Was it a new development?

He turned to T’Ali to consult her.

“T’Ali, has-”

“The show is starting, we should be quiet.” Jim interrupted curtly, which made Spock turn to glare at him.

“You were just talking Jim, and it is not as if-”

“For the love of gods will you two shut up,” Spock couldn’t see Daichi over Callum’s head in the dark, but he knew what he sounded like when he was strained, so Spock closed his mouth and returned his eyes to the screen.

They got through the first episode in the arc when T’Ali put an arm around Spock and he nearly spit out his fruit punch all over his sweater.

“T’Ali, what- what are you doing this is inappropriate social etiquette I…”

But then his voice died in his throat.

Jim had, very slowly and carefully, put a hand on his knee. And now, in the dim light of the theatre’s screen he was staring directly at Spock. It was a dare. He was daring Spock to tell him to move it.

“Jim.”

“Yes Spock?”

“Your hand is on my knee.”

“Is there a problem, Spock?”

There was a problem. Except, he didn’t know what it was. Too many people were touching him, and he could feel the fabric of the theatre seats on his palms and it was scratchy, and he had not known Astro boy involved this many flashing lights and Callum was saying something about colors he didn’t quite catch and it was all very much very fast and he did not know what to think about any of it.

“Please stop touching me.”

Jim retracted his hand like Spock had slapped it away instead of asking to move it. T’Ali gingerly removed her arm with a whispered a _“Spock are you okay?”_ that he ignored. But Jim was still staring at him.

“Why can she touch you?” Jim didn’t even glance at Astro Boy as he engaged in some fight with another android Spock couldn’t remember the name of, but Spock couldn’t take his eyes off it. He kept staring at the flashing lights like maybe there was some message he could decode in them. Why any of this was happening, for instance.

“Jim, you are being irrational.”

“You never let anyone else touch you,” the _other than me_ was unspoken, but it hovered in the air between them like a comic bubble. “Why can she, I’m not being irrational, I’m asking a question.”

“Jim, it’s nothing, Spock is just-” T’Ali tried to interject but Spock cut in.

“Other people are allowed to touch me.”

Jim spluttered.

“Obviously other people are allowed to touch you! Jesus I’m not like, a prison warden, I’m asking why you were holding her hand earlier, is she like, your girlfriend?”

“Jim I am literally right here,” T’Ali huffed, but Jim was just getting more inscenced.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on because Spock can have girlfriends now and I didn’t know that was a thing! Are we doing that, are we having girlfriends, is that a thing we’re doing now?”

Spock felt his cheeks flushing, his body temperature rising. This was unfair, Jim was the one acting strange and he was getting blamed, that was irrational, all of this, all of this was irrational.

So he said the most irrational thing that came to mind.

“So we are calling Callum ‘Cal’ now, Jim? As I was unaware that that was occurring either-”

Jim threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Why the fuck does that matter, it’s his nickname, am I not allowed to use nicknames now is that a dick move too-”

“Would you kids shut up back there we’re trying to watch a show!”

Whatever theatre patron had yelled it, they got what they wanted. Spock stood up and marched straight out of the theatre, slamming the door behind him. He could hear movie goers complaining as he stormed out of the mom and pop theater, making a beeline for the bike rack around the corner. It was only when he got there that he realized he had stepped on at least five sidewalk cracks and he swore, and suddenly his head was filled with numbers counting up and down as he tried desperately to remember the code to his bike lock, but all he could hear was the clicking of the combination dials over and over again.

“-pock, Spock! Spock!”

He was being shaken by the shoulders. Jim didn’t do that. Who… what was going on?

“Fucking hell dude are you okay, can you hear me? Spock?”

The voice clicked. And when it did, his tunnel vision slowly dissipated.

“Daichi?”

Spock had never seen the boy look this concerned, and the hat that he always wore backwards when they were out of school had shifted, like he had run into something or someone chasing after Spock.

“Are you okay? I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on I’ve never seen… was that a panic attack do you get those?”  
Spock blinked. He was holding on to the bike lock still in one hand. He let go of it, and with it the strength went out of his knees, and he sunk to sit on the curb. Daichi awkwardly kneeled down next to him, hands still on his shoulders, swearing under his breath. Spock collected his thoughts.

“It is similar, I believe. I am… unsure. Not much research has been put into Vulcan mental health studies. It was generally considered unnecessary.”

Daichi let out a low whisper.

“Damn, and I thought Japan had a lot of stigma about that shit.”

Spock tried to shrug. He didn’t seem to have the strength to do it.

“It is… simply how it is.”

He should apologize. He had probably frightened Daichi. He should apologize and-

“I’m sorry.”

Spock blinked, but he was fairly certain it was Daichi’s mouth who had moved and not his. He double checked.

“For… for what?”

Daichi sighed, and let go of Spock’s shoulders, tucking his knees into his chest.

“I should have said something. Friends say things. That’s a thing friends do. T’Ali thought it would help and I knew it wouldn’t, but I let her do it anyways, and that makes me a dick.”

“Daichi… I do not understand what you are trying to say.”

Daichi sighed, pulling his hat off and worrying it with his hands.

“You really fucking don’t, do you.”

Daichi fumbled with his hat. It had something written in kanji on it, and Spock knew from having asked before that it said ‘coward.’ He had asked why Daichi would buy something that said something so awful and wear it, and when he did Daichi had just chuckled softly. _It’s to remind me to be better,_ he had said. He didn’t elaborate.

“I’m not like… an expert by any means Spock. And I know for damn sure T’Ali isn’t. But… you should know that… ugh!” He slid his hat back onto his head, pulling the lid down over his eyes. “God I’m shit at this.”

Daichi exhaled.

“You like Jim. It’s, it’s really obvious to everyone except you and Jim to be honest,” Spock opened his mouth to protest, but Daichi raised a hand. “Look I’m not saying you have to do shit, and I’ll tell T’Ali to back off and this will all blow over in a few days, but… gods I don’t know Spock. I’m too young for this shit.”

Spock opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again, and this time a shaky breath came in.

“Have you… have you liked anyone before?”  
Daichi fidgeted. Spock didn’t know what that meant. Not like with Jim, who’s every movement he had catalogued for translation.

“Yeah. I’ve liked someone before. Doesn’t matter though.” Spock wasn’t sure what that meant either.

“What… what did it feel like?”

“Fuck man, how the hell am I supposed to…” but when Daichi looked up to see Spock’s expression, it was so open and lost that he sucked in a breath. “Okay, yeah, whatever.”

“It’s like… you wanna give the world to them. But they’re like, what matters in the world, so giving it to them without them in it is pretty fucking dumb. Gods that’s, whatever-- it’s fine. You want to make them happy. And most of the time they make you happy, except if they hurt you it hurts more because it’s them. I don’t know…”

Daichi closed his eyes. Pulled his hat down low.

“They make you feel. A lot. More than you’d ever voluntarily ask for. It’s not necessarily what you feel. It’s mostly that you feel so much. Because they’re so much to you. I guess.”

Spock looked at his hands. He remembered his lock combination. It was Jim’s birth year.

“I feel… very frightened. I am scared. And… confused. I do not know what I want.”

Daichi snickered, darkly.

“Yeah that’s kinda how it goes.”

“I do not think… I do not think Jim… likes me.”

The smile fell off Daichi’s face. He swallowed. He seemed to think for a long time. When his voice finally came out, it was muted. Like music from a neighboring room.

“Do you know why his favorite color is blue?”

Spock shook his head. And Daichi smiled at the ground. It was a strange smile.

“‘S ‘cause it reminds him of you. He says it’s a very Spock color.”

Spock frowned.

“That is illogical. Blue has very little association with me. I am more green, am I not?”

Daichi chuckled, and it got stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. Like a yellowy green.”

 

They sat in silence after that. Spock didn’t remember at what point he got on his bike and went home. After a few days, it was like the movies had never happened. He and Jim didn’t speak of it. It was just another blip in the days that passed.

But sometimes Spock would think about it. Late at night. Picture a yellow light and a blue cloud getting tangled up in each other, until it looked like a sunrise.

And then he would tuck it away, in the back corner of his mind. Because he knew what mattered. And it wasn’t _feeling_ all that. It was Jim. Because Daichi was right. Spock wanted to give Jim the world. This world, and all the worlds that had ever existed. But Jim was the most important thing on it.

Spock could lose the world. But he couldn’t lose Jim.

 

So he slept, and dreamt of sunrise.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was conceived to this specific edit of Lord Huron's Night we Met but edited to sound like it's from a house party next door. Because. Why not, I guess. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rid0TlUR9kE


	10. Not Old Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna preface this by saying that the mythos that gay people can’t sit in chairs normally is so true I’ve found my favorite writing nook at my college so far and my legs are all over the place I feel like a anime detective.
> 
> Anyways, here is my periodic being overwhelmed by how much hecking support this fic has gotten. You are all so very very amazing and nothing inspires me more to keep writing than knowing there are people excited for the next chapter!
> 
> That said, BOY HOWDY am I a busy guy all of the sudden. Between classes, work, recently getting my own segment on the local radio station (only the best of bops), and trying to work out Life Shit like moving in with my boyfriend and finances and such, I’ve been kind of overwhelmed lately. Seriously folks, adulting is hard. In fact I can only think of one thing harder than being an adult, and that’s being a kid, and gods know that’s the hardest thing you can be.
> 
> However I will still be doing my best to update weekly, but it may shift from Wednesdays to later in the week, or be a little more variable, depending on when I have time in my schedule to stay up half the night writing about my favorite boys in any galaxy.
> 
> I have surprises coming! Extra content! Drama! Intrigue! Angst! All the best for you of course. That being said, if you want to get in on the action and you’ve managed to read all the way to the end of this author’s note, come find me on tumblr! Message me with whatever headcanons you have or characters you want to see included, and I’ll do my best to include the stuff I think works with the storyline! Also I finally figured out how tumblr works so my theme is cute as hell and y’all should be proud of me. I’m at greylunar.tumblr.com if you’re interested.
> 
> And without further ado, the chapter! I’m really proud of this one. I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> All my thanks,  
> Taliesin
> 
> TW: Mild blood (small injury), discussions of mortality (in reference to non human entities), Jim being a Dumb Man, yelling. No canon-atypical triggers.

**June 2242**

 

“Jim. Jim. James Tiberius Kirk, wake up or I will dump this orange juice on your unconscious form, so help me.”

 

It had been Frank’s idea that Jim start spending summers at the Iowa house. He had said something about the farm being character building, but Jim insisted it was because EHarmony dates were less picky in Riverside. Whatever the reasoning behind it, Jim would be leaving soon for the two and a half months of summer vacation that separated one semester from the next and, in this case, separated Jim from Spock. The idea of not seeing each other for so long baffled the both of them, but if they couldn’t have daily adventures together, they would have to settle for the next best thing.

So Jim created the Best Day Ever.

“It’s really simple,” he had explained about a week before he had to leave. “In order to counteract the sheer amount of suck this summer will entail, I’m gonna need the greatest day ever invented. That way I’ll have something to hold on to while I’m picking up cowpies and dealing with Frank’s much more figurative bullshit. One Best Day Ever, with zero shit- cow or otherwise.”

He had wanted Spock to plan it. Spock originally protested, as he was never as good at planning adventures as Jim, but Jim insisted that an integral part of the day was that it be a surprise to him. That he had no idea what it would entail, or when it was coming.

So when he woke up on the fourteenth to the smell of pancakes, he was a little confused.

 

“Jim, wake up. I am growing tired of holding the tray.” 

Jim blinked the sleep away from his eyes, the image of Spock in his room smoothing out his BB8 comforter with a tray balanced in one hand coming into focus.

“Oh my god, is this it?” 

Spock chuckled, putting the tray (he couldn’t find an actual breakfast tray, so it was actually just the lid to a plastic storage box that he had commandeered for this purpose) in Jim’s lap. 

“Given that there are chocolate chips in these pancakes, which is heathenous as it takes away from the natural spices of my mother’s recipe, but you insist that it would be better this way, I can only assume that this is what you would refer to as the origins of a Best Day Ever. I have even capitalized the words in my head as you requested, although there is no auditory difference in my speech pattern.”

Jim gasped with delight, wiggling a bit in his excitement under the covers. In fact he nearly spilled his cocoa, but Spock just sighed and snatched it, righting the mug. But all was worth it when Jim looked down at his his pancakes and his mouth fell open.

“Spock. Is this smiley face pancake sticking its strawberry tongue out at me?”

Green tinted the corners of Spock’s ears. 

“Yes. Sybok insisted you would enjoy it more that way, and as he is an integral part of today’s events I thought I may as well indulge him. He said the pancake was very “Stones,” but I am unsure what that means. He also provided me with this t-shirt for the occasion.”

Spock look down. Under his thin cardigan he was wearing a black rock band shirt emblazoned with a very peculiar design. There were lions, and fairies, and what may have been an eagle or a roc, he was unsure. It seemed as if the designer was either very passionate about mythology, or very, very high. He supposed, with the genre, it could have been both.

Jim grinned.

“Queen is rad. Your brother has good taste.”

He scarfed down his pancakes, including the whipped cream mohawk Sybok had added for flair, and when he finished he looked up at Spock, beaming.

“I’m so excited, what’s next?”

Spock smiled softly.

“Next you go back to bed.”

Jim looked at him, snicker getting caught in his throat as he raised one eyebrow exaggeratedly, playfully mocking Spock’s own habit.

“Go back to bed?”

“You always insist when I wake you up that you be allowed to sleep for ten more minutes. I have never let you. This is the one time.”

Jim burst into laughter, delighted, and set the tray on his bedside table, scooting further down under the covers. He looked up at Spock, and smiling and still sleepy eyed. Spock was not sure what the expression exactly meant, but he decided that he always wanted to be looked at that way.

“Hey Spock?,” Jim whispered, closing his eyes already, “Thanks.”

Spock sat delicately on the edge of the bed, pulling a book from Jim’s nearby shelf. 

“You get ten minutes, Kirk. I’m timing you.”

“ _ Kirk! _ ” Jim laughed, eyes flashing open as he snaked an arm around Spock’s waist, and with more strength than Spock was aware he had, pulled him towards the center of the bed, trying to knock him over. Spock sighed, refusing to topple but adjusting so Jim could put his head in his lap. “Don’t ‘Kirk’ me, you loser.” Jim mock-pouted, giggling as he laid down.

“39 seconds and counting.  _ Jim _ .” But Spock’s voice was soft when he said it.

 

***

 

“Has it been ten minutes?”

“...almost.”

“You lost track of time reading, didn’t you?”

“Something like that.”

 

***

 

“So where are we going? The beach? It’s early as shit, we didn’t have to wake up at 6:00 to go to the beach. Shit, are we going somewhere far? Are we going to Disneyland?” Jim was blabbering as they walked back to Spock’s house, practically skipping. He had asked Spock what he was allowed to wear, and Spock had said ‘anything,’ so Jim was parading around in his Superman cape and high neon yellow sport socks, looking like he might actually take a few steps off the ground and start floating out of joy.

It made Spock’s mouth quirk up a fraction.

“We are not going to Disneyland. It is somewhere far though. California is a large state.”

“So it’s in California? That narrows it down some, what sort of-- holy shit is that your brother?”  
Sybok was waving at them from the driveway. He was standing next to his most recent purchase. Spock sighed, trudging forward.

“Yes. That is him.”

Jim was gaping in amazement.

“He has a truck?”

The seafoam blue pickup truck looked like it had been through hell. Spock wouldn’t doubt that it had, if he believed such a place existed. Rust covered the sides, it appeared to be missing a majority of its bumper, and just generally looked as if it had not only recently come out of a dump, but a dump that had been severely damaged traveling through a wormhole connecting now to the 1950s. 

“He has… a functioning vehicle. I am not sure if it can still be classified as a truck.”

But Jim was already running.

“Sybok! This is so cool! Is it yours? Did you buy it yourself? Where did you get it?”

Sybok laughed as Jim ran in circles around the beat up pickup, beaming with pride.

“You like it?,” Sybok’s hair was braided back on one side, and loose on the other. He had recently redone it so it was black and purple, and he wore a matching plaid cut-off shirt under his jacket. He was a junior in high school at this point, and his jacket now had the words  **It’s Lit** bedazzled across the back to honor his design work as the school theatre Lighting Crew Head. To some, it might have looked silly. But Sybok insisted that this was fashion at its peak. 

“I got it off a guy who moved downtown and didn’t really have the space for it anymore. This is basically two semesters worth of Calc tutoring after school, but definitely worth it. He’s perfect.”

Jim darted back around to where Sybok was. He seemed stunned that Sybok had decided his car was male, but Spock knew that on principle Sybok would have disagreed with the human tendency to assign vehicles female gender markers.

“Does he have a name?” Jim was trying to peer into the bed of the truck, and shrieked with joy when Sybok, laughing, boosted him up to stand on the wheel hub. 

“This fine stallion,” Sybok grinned, as Jim scrambled into the bed of the truck instinctively. “Is The Kerouac.”

Spock rolled his eyes as Jim  _ oooooh _ ed even though he had no idea what the name meant.

Sybok laughed regardless, and softly patted the hood of the car.

“Why don’t you hop on in guys? I told Ames we were picking her up in 20 minutes, so we best get going. Got a long day of surprise adventures in store.”

Sybok rounded the car and slid in the driver’s seat, smiling. Jim turned to Spock, carefully shimming his way back to the pavement.

“Who’s Ames?”

Spock shrugged.

“Sybok’s girlfriend. He has dated people before, but I have not met this one. I doubt they will interfere much. Come along.”

They hoped in the back seat. The car smelled strongly of Febreeze, the ocean spray kind, which both made Spock sneeze and smelled nothing like the ocean. Spock told Jim as much, who laughed as he fastened his seatbelt. Sybok adjusted the mirror so he could peer at both of them.

“You guys buckled in? Hands and feet inside the ride?”

Jim gave him a thumbs up, and they pulled out of the driveway.

***

They drove for a while, Jim chatting incessantly about guesses of where they were going. They passed a Dairy Queen, and even though it was only 6:30, Sybok surprised the 24/7 worker by ordering four mini blizzards, and Jim dug into his Choco Blast Extreme with vigor. When they pulled up to a gravel driveway of a small secluded house, Sybok carefully downshifted and rolled into park. He grinned at them from the mirror.

“I’ll be right back, chill here.”

Sybok shut the car door behind him, and dashed off to ring the doorbell. 

“He seems… really happy? Like, he bought us ice cream. High schoolers don’t buy people anything if they don’t have to,” Jim laughed awkwardly. Spock just shrugged.

“He has had girlfriends in the past but...he talks about this one more. He actually offered to take us where we are going when I asked my mother. It is odd, but refreshing to see him so content. I cannot imagine what she is like.”

“Why not?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Can you imagine what type of person it requires to get Sybok, of all people, to desire settling?”

Jim’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to say something, but before he did the screen door of the house slammed.

“Bye Mom! No, oh my god, I said bye, Mom! No, I said… whatever bye, I love you!”

Sybok was laughing, doubled over, arms linked with the person next to him as he pulled them toward the car, who was toting a massive bag and calling over their shoulder. Jim blinked. 

“That’s… her?”

Spock look just as confused, but didn’t answer. When Sybok got in the car he was still laughing, and his partner slid into the passenger seat.

“Hey boys! I’m Amy,” she grinned at them over her shoulder, waving a jangling wrist at them. Bangles slid everywhere. “I’m so excited to meet you, Sybok has told me all about you.”

“Hello, Amy,” Spock said, his face as indiscernible as always. 

“Your hair is pink.” Jim said nonsensically. 

Amy laughed, low and melodic.

“You are correct, my little man.. In fact, I did it myself. Sew-in weaves are a pain in the ass; consider yourself lucky that you’ll never need one.” Pink twisted braids were piled atop her head in a bun, and she took a moment to vogue and try out a few angles, giggling as her hair swung back and forth. 

Jim looked awed that someone could ever hold the power of getting their hair to look like that on their own, and quietly whispered a small  _ “wow,”  _ under his breath. Sybok laughed, handing something back to him.

“As it is Jim’s special day, I’d say we let him have the first round with the aux cord, how ‘bout that?”

“Fuck yeah!” Jim snatched it, which left Sybok and Amy in giggles again, and as they pulled out of the driveway, Spock couldn’t help but faintly smile as the gravel crunched under the old truck tires. If there was any day that could be considered a Best Day Ever, capitalization and all, so far today was looking promising.

They took turns playing music: Sybok with his punk, Jim with his rock and roll, and Amy with her… everything? She would preface songs by saying band names like The Octopus Project (Octopi project?), Little Dragon, Goth Babe (to which Sybok had whistled appreciatively), and something that sounded Bone-lang, but that wasn’t a word at all, nonsensical or otherwise. One band had even been called Rainbow Kitten Surprise, but Spock could not discern what it had to do with rainbows or kittens, other than also being in the category of ‘Things That Are Good.’ Amy danced to everything, although she took a break in the fourth round of songs to put makeup on in the mirror. Jim stared at her the entire time she was doing it, to the point where she turned around halfway through putting lipstick on and rolled her eyes at him.

“What? You’ve never seen someone put makeup on before?”

Jim spluttered.

“I have! I just… I haven’t ever seen someone who looks like you do it.”

Amy pointed at him with her lipstick tube, she raised her eyebrow, perfectly manicured and even higher than Spock’s could go. He was almost impressed.

“Who looks like what, young man?”  
Jim blubbered for a moment and stared at his shoes, flushing.

“Someone as pretty as you, I guess...”

Amy’s long, freshly-painted eyelashes fluttered as she registered that. And then she broke out laughing again. She laughed a lot. She laughed in a way that made you want to laugh with her. 

“You hear that Sybok? Sounds like you’ve got some competition in the backseat. You wanna pull over and fight for my honor?”

Sybok grinned at her, the wind streaming his hair back as they cruised down the country road.

“As if you would need me to fight any battle for you.”

Amy laughed, leaning over the center console and kissing Sybok on the cheek. It left half an imprint of blue lipstick residue, which she tried to wipe off and failed.

“Curse the cruelty free beauty industry’s commitment to giving me long lasting wear.”

“Why do you wear makeup?” Jim piped up from the backseat. 

“Why do you ask?” Amy seemed hesitant to answer.

“Cause I’ve never gotten it. Spock’s mom doesn’t wear makeup. My mom never wore makeup. I’m just curious.” It was at this moment that Spock realized this was probably the longest Jim had ever been around a woman older than him who wasn’t a teacher in probably over four years. His eyes flickered from Amy to Jim, wondering how the conversation would unfold.

“Well, it’s like your superhero cape, right?” Amy’s voice was tentative, but patient as she explained. “Why do you wear your superhero cape?”

“It’s so people know I’m strong and awesome. Like Superman.”

“Well, let’s say I wear makeup to show I’m strong and awesome like Wonder Woman. It lets me choose how I want people to perceive me. It’s like armor I can put on. Some knights can go into battle without any armor on, and feel brave, which is amazing, but some knights like to go all out with chainmail and maces and shit so people know that they’re a knight, and that they should respect them. It makes them feel braver, or safer, because they’re proud of being a knight, and armor is usually a symbol of that. Either way is totally okay, but I like wearing my armor because it makes me feel like Wonder Woman, like I’m ready for any battle the world might throw at me.”

Jim was looking at her like she really was Wonder Woman come to life right there in the truck cab.

“Can I wear some?”

Amy laughed, and Spock noticed she didn’t ever try to cover her smile or her laughter like his mother did. He wanted to ask why, but he thought she already knew. She was proud of it. She was proud of being happy.

Spock glanced at Sybok, pausing when he realized Sybok was already looking at him in the rearview mirror. Sybok was smiling softly, and he looked… there. More solid than he had in a long time.

Spock decided to add Amy to the short list of people he cared about. It was an easy decision.

 

The rest of the car ride entailed Jim putting on blue lipstick like football players’ eye black, Amy attempting to teach them the Single Ladies’ dance while sitting down, and Jim falling asleep on Spock’s shoulder staring out the car window. As the hours wound down, Amy took control of the aux cord, and started playing soft music that didn’t have a lot of words, but seemed to matter a lot. It made Spock feel safe, like the car could keep driving forever but if Jim was asleep on his shoulder and Sybok was at the wheel he could be okay with that. For a while, that’s what it seemed would happen. Just driving, forever.

 

And then the trees appeared.

 

“You better wake up Jim,” Sybok whispered as Amy stuck her head out the window to ooh and ahh. Spock shifted, shaking Jim gently by the shoulder.

“Jim, your surprise is here.”

“‘s it Disneyland? Cause Donald Duck scares me. You know this, Spock.”

That earned him a soft chuckle.

“It is not a cartoon duck, Jim. And it is more awe inspiring than frightening, I believe.”

“What does that mean--  _ oh my stars.” _

The California Redwoods looked like pillars to the sky. They were unfathomable, but in the way that they were so utterly real that everything else seemed pale in comparison. They were in a sense what life itself would look like if embodied. Jim pressed himself to the window, Spock laughing as he rolled it down with such haste it seemed like he might tumble out. He gasped, started rambling about treehouses and Mother Earth as they wound down the twisting trail. Spock was unfamiliar with the mythos of the Earth being a mother, but if she was, he had to admit she was stunning. That was why he had chosen the Redwoods. It was so very human. So very alive. Like someone else he knew.

They drove around for a while, the immensity of beauty around them causing them to all go quiet until it was just the sound of Amy’s music and the wind through the trees. There were trees wider than the car itself, that made Spock’s heart lurch just looking at them. Everything here was ancient. Unbelievably ancient. It was like discovering an abandoned temple, except it went on for miles and miles, and no creature had built it. The idea that something this stunning happened by chance, that only here, on Earth, in this solar system, in this galax amung trillions of others, had the exact conditions that resulted in something as beautiful as this had Spock’s head spinning. When they finally pulled into a parking lot, he surprised himself by being the first one out of the car.

They hiked, Sybok and Amy arm and arm, Jim darting from tree to tree, touching everything, so that the forest would remember he was there. Amy had brought her polaroid camera, which Jim thought was almost as fascinating as the trees.

“But why would you only want physical copies of the photos? You could lose them, or damage them or something.”

Amy had smiled. She liked being asked this question, you could tell.

“That’s the point, yeah? These photos, they’ll get coffee stains on them, they’ll get rumpled, they’ll get pinned into my wall and they’ll fade. But that just means they’re growing with me. Every little wrinkle in the paper is like an age line on a face. They’re mortal, I guess. I like that better. It makes them even more important to appreciate.”

Jim stared at the camera, and then back at Amy.

“Can I keep some of the photos from today?”

“My little dude,” Amy grinned, snapping one of his face as he stared at her, “You can keep them all.”

 

So they walked, standing at the feet of giants. Some were bigger than Sybok lengthwise, and there was a photo to prove it. There were photos of Amy trying to climb a massive stump, of Spock standing on a car sized root structure, and a particularly great one where Jim insisted he wanted to try and reach the lowest branch he had seen so far, so Sybok had laughed and put him on his shoulders, the two of them almost falling as Jim reached as high as he could towards the sky.

There were pictures of Sybok and Amy kissing under a massive archway, of Jim sitting in the lap of a Smokey the Bear statue, of Spock seeing an Elk for the first time with a near comical look of shock. There were pictures of giant mushrooms, of hands being held, of paths being conquered. But Spock’s favorite was the last one they took before turning back around. At the third time that Jim proclaimed that  _ this  _ was most certainly the tallest tree in the whole world, he had dragged Spock over to stand below it. 

“Amy! Countdown from five and take a picture!”

“Okay! Five… four…”

Jim turned to Spock.

“Hey. Hey nerd.”

Spock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Jim?”

“You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

The photo was slightly blurry. Sybok had accidentally bumped into Amy’s shoulder when she took it, but even with all that you could see it.

In the photo, Spock was smiling. Really, really, smiling.

 

When they turned homeward after what felt like centuries, the drive back was quieter than before. The sun set behind them as Amy played with Sybok’s hair and Jim stared out the window. Spock staring at Jim. It started drizzling, and the windows were rolled up as Amy fell asleep in the front seat. Sybok hummed along to the music on the radio, songs that Spock knew he would never remember the names of but always remember the feeling they left..

Jim got quieter and quieter as they drove homeward. When the stars came out, he only mumbled a few of their names before putting his head back on Spock’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to go.” Jim whispered. The weight of it settled over them, and Spock closed his eyes. He thought of praying. He did not know who or what he would pray to.

_ I do not want you to leave,  _ Spock thought, but he just nodded.

“”S not gonna be the same. Summer without you.”

“You will have horses to ride. You love horses.”

“Yeah. Not as… yeah.”

They dropped Amy off. She kissed them all goodbye on the cheek, even Spock, and waved from her driveway as they pulled out. Spock watched her get smaller as they drove away. Jim flipped through the polaroids under the streetlights.

Next it was Jim’s turn. Spock did not hug him goodbye. He considered it, but he was still frightened of how his initiating contact could be perceived. Instead, he walked Jim to the door. Nodded, when Jim whispered his goodbye. And when Jim waved goodbye, for the first time, Spock gave him the Vulcan salute.

“Live long and prosper, Jim.” His voice sounded small. Smaller than it had even surrounded by the tallest trees he had ever seen.

Jim blinked, startled slightly, and said something from behind the glass door as it shut that Spock didn’t quite catch. But, as it closed behind him, he raised his hand, awkwardly parting his fingers, and did it back.

Spock went home, told his mother about his day, and went to bed. He slept soundly. 

That is, until Jim nearly broke his window.

 

The tinging sound that had woken him up got louder and louder as Jim apparently found bigger and bigger rocks to hurl at his window, one almost hitting him when Spock finally wrestled it open around midnight.

“Jim if you would refrain from--” another rock whistled by him, accompanied by a small  _ oh shit  _ from below. “Jim honestly what are you doing it is late, you are leaving tomorrow, go to bed.”

Standing in his backyard, illuminated by the moonlight, Jim looked wild, like something out of a faerie tale. Spock shivered as the wind blew in, colder as night had fallen, his nightgown not enough to trap heat in. 

“Come down here.” Jim whispered curtly.

Spock snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You are delusional, Jim, if you think I would ever-”

“Spock.” Jim’s voice was set and even, but it sounded strained. He was wearing a bomber jacket, and boots, and had a bag slung over his shoulder. Spock hadn’t noticed the bag before. “Come down here. Please.”

Spock analyzed the situation. And slung a leg over the windowsill.

 

Jim guided him over to his house, the cicadas’ noise filling the summer night. As he passed from one streetlight to the next, Jim walked increasingly faster, like he needed to build momentum for something. He practically ran up his driveway, and pulled his garage door up using the manual handle.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, harshly but attempting to keep his voice down, “what exactly are we doing, this is quite illogical behavior, I don’t-”

Spock faltered off as Jim turned, and held up a small silver key. The Corvette shone as the light from the street filtered into the garage. 

The plan, for Jim always had a plan, was obvious.

“Jim are you  _ mad?  _ You cannot intend to steal Frank’s car, this is... Jim, this is lunacy!”

“No,” Jim’s voice was steely as he forgot to whisper, “what is crazy is all the bullshit I have to go through putting up with him!” Jim scrambled around to the driver’s side of the car, fumbling with the key. For a long moment he couldn’t seem to fit it into the external lock. His hands were shaking. Spock glanced around, making sure none of the neighbors windows were open. This was too dangerous. This was too… too… just too much. 

“What’s crazy is that I’m expected to be perfectly fine with him dictating my life for fear of punishment, what’s crazy is that everyone treats me like I’m fucking nothing and if I don’t get out of here now before long I’m going to fucking believe it! The teachers think I’m shit, Frank thinks I’m useless, kids at school think I’m fucking bonkers, god  _ dammit _ why won’t this fucking car open!” Jim slammed his hand on the window frame, and then spun around to look at Spock. Spock didn’t know what to do. Jim had been fine only hours ago. Everything had been fine only hours ago.

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand, because I know you do, because you’re the only one who fucking understands anything! Don’t pretend I don’t see that those Vulcan kids still harass the shit out of you, that it's getting worse and you just won't tell anyone about it, certainly not me because you know I’d kill them if I got the chance. Don’t pretend that you don’t hate the fucking cards we’ve been dealt and how every adult on the planet is too fucking dumb to do anything about it! Quit fucking pretending Spock! Because I can’t! I can’t pretend I’m okay with this anymore!”

Jim whipped back around to face the car, trying again to force the key into the lock. Spock took a deep breath, raising his hands in a sign of truce.

“Jim even so, logically you have to see that this idea will not work, you are not old enough to drive a car.”  
“Fuck that!” Jim’s voice was growing louder now, and he seemed to be looking for something on the garage floor. “Fuck being not old enough, everyone says that! I’m not old enough to feel this way, I’m not old enough to think for myself, I’m not old enough to go anywhere, I’m not old enough to love anybody! Maybe they’re just not young enough to know shit, huh? Maybe it’s all just fucking bullshit!”

And with that, Jim grabbed a loose stone on the garage floor, and slammed it against the window of the Chevrolet.

“Jim!” Spock launched himself forward, but not before Jim stuck his arm in and unlocked the car from the inside, swearing as he cut himself on the broken glass. He swung the door open, sitting down in the passenger seat. Panicked, Spock ran around and climbed in the passenger’s side. Inside, Jim was swearing as his bloody hand fumbled with the key, eyes filling with tears.

“Jim, look at me. Jim. Jim!” He wouldn’t listen. He never listened. So Spock did the only thing he could think to do.

He reached out, and he took Jim’s hand.

The combined mess of their minds was almost too much to handle. The heat of Jim’s blood on his hand made him dizzy, and so much was going on that all he could do was force Jim to feel everything he was feeling. It was so much and he didn’t know what any of it meant but he had to get Jim to stay he had to because it was either Jim left for two months or Jim left forever and that couldn’t happen because Spock needed Jim, Spock  _ needed  _ Jim.

Spock needed Jim.

 

When he let go, there were tears streaming down his face and his breaths were heavy and heaving. Jim was staring at him like he had just shot someone in front of him but Spock couldn’t think of what that entailed because he had to focus, so he put his hand on Jim’s cheek, blood smearing on his face and forced himself to make eye contact.

“Stay. Jim. Please.”

 

For a moment the only sound in the car was his breath and Jim’s sniffles. The only movement was the shaking of his shoulders. And then Jim launched himself into Spock’s arms, tangling their limbs together as he sobbed into Spock’s shoulder. 

Spock didn’t know what he said for the hour they sat in the car with Jim crying. He didn’t know what he said to get Jim out of the car, to get him to go inside and go to bed. He didn’t know what he said to Sybok at 2 o’clock in the morning to get him to give him the glass repair stimulation kit that he used to fix Frank’s window and hide the evidence. He didn’t know how he managed to fall asleep that night. He realized, then, that he didn’t know much of anything at all.

He did know that in the end, Jim had stayed. And that was all that mattered.

 

***

 

Spock got the message a month and a half in.

 

**Unknown Number:** _ u were right about that whole not old enough to drive thing. guess they make those rules 4 a reason huh? _

 

Attached was an image. Jim was taking a selfie, laughing as the Chevrolet teetered over the edge of a cliffside behind him, giving the camera a thumbs up, dirt on his face, an android cop approaching in the distance. The follow up message appeared shortly after.

 

 **Unknown Number:** _was trying to get home to u._

 

Spock saved the number under the name Jim The Fool and sent the only reply he knew how to.

 

**Spock:** _ Come home already, dimwit. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim the Fool: Okay but you set that as my contact picture right, because that’s a photographic masterpiece man, I am 99% sure that fits the Golden Ratio, put that shit in the MOMA  
> Jim the Fool: Brb being arrested lol
> 
> The song this was written to was Not Old Enough by Richard Orofino. His vibe reminds me so much of that guy you knew in middle school or high school that was really nice and you cared about, but you were never really close with, and so now you find yourself years later where he is and if he’s okay when he randomly crosses your mind. Cavetown is usually my go to for young angst, but this song in particular captures the frustration and hope and love and want of youth so well, that I couldn’t not write this chapter to it. The music isn’t beautiful, but it matters. And I think that’s why it is.


	11. For You To Be Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> This is it. The last soft thing we get for a while. Cherish it my friends.
> 
> I go on air on the radio for my show for the first time tomorrow! I'm nervous, but super excited. Getting these boys out a day early made me feel really good, and hey, maybe I can actually work on my English Comp Essay now.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is greylunar.tumblr.com, and you can contact me with any headcannons you have that you want in this fic, or just to chat!
> 
> This was kind of a self indulgent chapter writing wise, but I hope y'all don't mind. It was fun to write. 
> 
> Anyways, lots of love as always,
> 
> Taliesin
> 
> TW: mentions of physical bullying (brief) and mentions of unhappy marriages (brief). Also Daichi is a fucking witch but idk who that would trigger its just lit.
> 
> Translations of Vulcan at the end

**Summer 2242**

  


**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _what do u think ur soul would taste like?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _Jim. Honestly._

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _just answer the question loser_

  


Spock filled the boy shaped silence that seemed to follow him around wherever he went with music. Amy sent him track after track, links to videos and mp3 files that he used to populate the sounds of his days, making up for conversations that no longer happened. Some weekends, they would all pile in the car and drive to Amoeba music across the bridge, and then Stranded, and then Jack’s Cellar, and he would drag his fingers over the covers of record after record, picking out only the ones that whisked him off somewhere else than California and mailing them to Iowa. When Jim sent him ten second clipped videos of his ceiling fan, some b-sides album playing in the background, he could almost imagine that instead of California or Iowa, the two of them met in some place separate entirely, listening to the same songs at the same time.

It was illogical.

But what wasn’t, these days.

  


**_Sputnock:_ ** _I am unsure._

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _i think you would taste like bergamot. like the shit they put in earl grey tea?_

_that and salt water and like, cool. like how mint is cool. not peppermint tho like the plant._

_you’d taste cool and alive._

  


“Spock get out of the water dumbass, you’re gonna freeze to death!”

The water slicked back his hair as he floated, cool, just on the right edge of freezing. It made him feel surrounded. In a strange way, it made him feel warm.

Daichi kept hollering at him from the beach, batting away T’Ali as she tried to mess with his freshly buzzed hair, his hat clipped around his belt. Callum waved when Spock poked his head up, daintily perched with on a beach chair in the shade of the umbrella to prevent overheating.

They looked quaint, the picture of them. Like a Monet, in the soft morning light.

He swam back to shore, at Daichi’s continued protests. But it was colder out of the water.

  


**_Sputnock:_ ** _Do you think about this often?_

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _all the time. do me._

  


Spock tasted blood in his mouth, metallic and warm as Senva knocked his legs out from under him.

“ **Kren’ath fucker, as if you had the right to look at me. You stare, but you never fight. You are a coward.** **Nothing but a** ** _kobat dushu._** ”

_Why don’t you fight?_ Jim had asked, when they had called a week before and he had seen Spock’s bruised eye. He had traced his finger around the blue of Spock’s skin over the screen, and it had made something in Spock’s chest ache.

_It is futile,_ Spock had murmured. _It would change nothing. I am always going to be different. I am always going to be this._

_I like this. I like different._

But that was Jim. Jim, who fought everything. Jim, who did not know how to back down.

Spock wondered, in the end, who was braver.

“ **Coward.** **”** Senva spat, and it lingered longer than the pain that followed.

  


**_Sputnock:_ ** _I am not a poet._

**_Jim the fool:_ ** _i never said u had to be._

  


Sarek glanced up from the novel on his tablet when Spock swung the screen door open, gingerly taking off his shoes and lining them up three centimeters apart in the cubby his mother had built. He paused before he backed away, adjusting a few pairs of sneakers to make sure everything was straight.

“Hello, Spock. Was your walk to your satisfaction?”

“It was, father.”

Spock walked to the fridge, his bare feet padding against the wooden floor, and relished in the cool air that blew out as he broke the vacuum seal of the closed door. There was iced rillian melon tea and some apple juice boxes. After a moment he grabbed the latter and walked to the living room to join his father, sitting on the floor next to Diana. She perked up from her nap and let out a strange mewl as he pulled her into his lap, which turned to relaxed clicks as he pet her idly, sipping his juice and staring into space.

“Spock. Have you considered the possibility of returning to Vulcan?”

The sound of Diana’s purring turned to vaguely annoyed chirping as Spock’s hand stopped moving.

“Is it… something I should be considering, father?”

Sarek shrugged, on a nearly atomic level. He rarely resorted to body language to convey conversational meaning, but he was exhausted, and you could see it in the way he held himself, relaxed an extra few degrees into the couch. Today had been his first day off in over a month, and when Amanda had asked him what he wanted to do for the occasion, he had simply blinked at her and said, “ _it is an occasion?”_

“Sybok will be pursuing higher education in the coming years. He has expressed his desire to remain on Earth for this endeavor, which I have given my consent to. I was simply seeking to address the unanswered question of whether or not you considered Earth to be the setting for your future, or would consider the possibility of returning home.”

Spock took a long sip of his juice box. He brought the word home to mind, and couldn’t picture it. Tried to remember what saying it tasted like, but all he could perceive in his imagination was concentrated apple flavoring _._

“I would not veto it outright,” he finally stated, “but it is not something I am seeking at this moment in my life’s timeline.”

Sarek nodded, face revealing nothing, and went back to his tablet. But Spock couldn’t help but feel the conversation was unfinished.

“You gave Sybok permission to stay? Even if we… including under the hypothetical in which the rest of the familial unit return to Vulcan?”

Sarek barely looked up.

“It was the sensical course of action in order to meet his intended path for the future.”

“But why?” The question was out of Spock’s mouth before he could stop it. In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising. He had been holding it in for so long. “Why now? You have always been hesitant regarding Sybok’s life choices.”

Sarek’s eyes flickered shut, and for a moment Spock was nervous he had crossed a line, but then Sarek set the tablet on the table next to him, and leaned down to scratch behind Diana’s ears. He was quiet for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was quieter than his usual volume.

“My homeworld holds importance to me, Spock. It has for most of my living years. It is why I do what I do. But it is not all that holds importance to me.”

Diana nuzzled at Sarek’s hand when he tried to pull away, and although he didn’t smile, the idea of one seemed to cross his mind.

“My sons also carry significant importance. And Sybok… he is happy here.”

Spock could not remember a time in his life before this that his father had used the word happy. It sounded foreign in his voice. Like it came from a softer language.

“I am still unsure as to whether you too, will be happy here in the end.”

With that he rose, and walked off to his study, leaving Spock alone with Diana in his lap.

 

“Home,” whispered Spock quietly, and he could not decide what it tasted like.

  


**_Sputnock:_ ** _You would taste how the air tastes in the middle of a heat storm. Like copper and lightning._

_Like heat and energy._

  


He went to the swing set in Jim’s backyard and let the swing move him more than moving it himself. There was no reason to be there. But it felt closer.

Realistically, Iowa was closer to his own home. Jim’s house was West of his.

He kept swinging anyways. Imagined he could pass weeks this way. Hummed something that sounded like Springsteen.

  


**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _do you believe in past lives?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _Not particularly. Do you?_

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _today i do._

  
  


“So do you think you’re in love with him?” T’Ali asked casually, blowing bubbles that shone in the midday light, her dippin dots ice cream cup already finished and laid to her side. She ignored the sounds of Spock nearly choking on his push pop next to her, even as the ice cream truck helped it’s last customer and pulled away.

“Gods T’ you’re gonna kill him,” Daichi grumbled, leaning over to slap Spock on the back a few times.

“Just asking a question Daichi, no need to be defensive.”

That earned her a huff, as Daichi pulled his hat down low and turned back to sorting his tarot cards. T’Ali, on the other hand, turned back to Spock expectantly. Callum was oblivious as always, popping bubbles with one hand, his strawberry shortcake bar slowly melting and dripping down the silicone of the other.

“Do you think you love him?” T’Ali asked again, and Spock flinched as Callum popped a bubble a little too near his face.

_No,_ Spock thought. _Of course I don’t love him. I know enough to know I don’t. I am a child. To consider the idea that I know anything of love is naive, the audacity to believe I feel it is offensive. I would never even feel it in the same way as him. It is foolish. No. Of course, no._

The word no wouldn’t come out of him though. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, felt the idea of no try to shake his vocal chords but it was trapped in his throat. And he knew why. The answer may have been no, but to say it was another thing entirely.

“I do not know what love is,” he mumbled finally, eyes locked on the orange sherbet of his popsicle.

“Course you do,” T’Ali continued, “you’ve got parents, don’t you?”

“Not everybody's parents are in love T’,” Daichi muttered, shuffling the cards and offering the deck to Callum. T’Ali frowned.

“What does that mean? Course they’re in love-”

“I simply mean,” Spock interrupted, watching Daichi tense out of the corner of his eye, “that I am not aware of what love would look like, or feel like I suppose, in my case. It is not something I have considered very often.” He paused, then added softly, “it is not something I have considered at all truthfully.”

Callum split the deck of cards, handed them back to Daichi. Daichi shuffled them slowly, making sure Callum could see so he could learn the movements.

“What would it look like, to you?”

 

It took them all turning to face him for Spock to realize he was the one who had asked the question.

 

T’Ali jumped at the occasion.

“Maha says that love is someone who always tries for you even when its hard. And that sometimes trying doesn’t mean doing big grand gestures, although that’s nice, but that sometimes love is just going the extra mile to drop them off coffee at work, or say something nice when they’re sad. And Hanan says that love doesn’t even have to be romantic, that sometimes love is just the person you care about the most. And that it doesn’t even have to be one person. So I’m gonna have a bunch of friends who I love the most, and we’re all gonna hang out and buy each other chocolates and go on adventures. Because _I_ think that loving someone means you want to go on all your adventures with them.”

She turned to Daichi expectantly.

He didn’t sigh this time, just stared at the cards as he split them into smaller sections and laid them out in a complicated pattern, restaking them in the order Callum tapped them.

“Do you want the real answer or the cool guy answer.”

“You are the cool guy,” Callum chirped, “so the real answer is the cool guy answer too.”

Daichi smiled softly at that and sucked in a breath.

“My partner would have to be my best mate. That’s the most important thing. That they’re always my friend first, so that even on days they don’t love me, they still stay because we’re not just supposed to be in love.”

“Why not someone who just loves you unconditionally?” Callum asked, tapping cards.

“Cause that’s not a thing. Or at least, I don’t believe it’s a thing. I dunno. I don’t know about love in general.”

“My Uncle says believing in love is like believing in Santa Claus, or magic,” Callum continued. “It’s easy when you’re really little, and then it’s hard because growing up is hard, but then you have a kid or you meet a certain person, and it’s liking hearing bells for the first time again. I do not know what the bells mean. But that is what he said.”

“What about you Cal, what’s your big idea on love?” Daichi laughed as Callum whirred excitedly when they turned towards him.

“My mom says I should not linger on the concept because they are still unsure if my code will be able to fully replicate the emotion! But that just makes me think about it more! And my uncle talks about it a lot. He says that love is a very very big thing to feel, but that he is sure that I already feel it, and that my mother is just being silly. I think the person I love would be very lovely and brave, and they would like the movie Wall-E, and they would like me for who I am! I do not think they would be mean at all. Or only when they need to be.”

Spock thought of Earth. He thought of Jim.

“Do you think, Callum, that you will be able to replicate the human emotion? Even though you yourself are not human?”

He was so distracted by his own musings that it was only after a few seconds that he realized Callum’s whirring had stopped and his face had fallen. He backpedaled furiously.

“Wait, Callum I did not mean to insinuate… of course you would be able to… I was more concerned with my own emotional blocking and wanted an opinion of a fellow outsider…”

Daichi swung an arm around Callum, jostling his hair.

“Hey tin man, keep your motors running. And don’t listen to Spock, he’s a drama bitch. You’re not gonna have to replicate shit. You’ll meet some nice android girl, who will be an excited little puppy like you, and she’ll play Wall-E a hundred times in a row like you like, and it’ll be great and you’ll love her. Love ain’t a human invention, and they certainly aren’t the best at it. Nobody’s the best at love. But you’re gonna be something new and amazing, and all the hard asses like me are gonna have to deal with you vomiting sunshine all over the place.”

Callum tilted his head to look at Daichi, eyes flickering closed, saving information.

“Who is the tin man?” He asked when he opened them again. “It is not me, I am made of titanium alloy.”

Daichi snickered, taking the now melted popsicle out of Callum’s hand and wiping it down with some napkins.

“It’s a movie reference Eve-a. We can watch it, but I’m playing it three times max, that shit is like, two hours and old as balls.”

Callum nodded and picked a card from the finished deck. It had two figures made of skulls and stones with their hands bound together, melting together at the bottom to a pool of ink.

“I got the Lovers! How aptitude!”

Everyone laughed but Daichi, who was trying to explain the difference between aptitude and apt, as T’Ali just shook her head at him.

 

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _do you think we could have met before? in a past life?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _I doubt it._

**_Jim the fool:_ ** _y?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _Because I would remember you._

  


Sybok hopped back in the car, shutting the door behind him after walking Amy to her door. He was quiet, as he watched to make sure she got in safe, Spock systematically solving and rescrambling the picture based rubix cube they had gotten from their garage sale run. It was only after a few minutes passed, and the car didn’t move, that Spock looked up at Sybok.

“Brother, is all well?”

Sybok chuckled softly, his mind somewhere else, and shifted the car into reverse, pulling out of the drive.

“Yeah. Everything’s good.”

They turned back onto the main road, the shifting of the rubix cube the only sound in the car.

“I’m gonna marry her,” Sybok whispered, breaking the silence

Spock blinked. Looked around, and then realized what he must be referring to.

“Now?”

Sybok laughed heartily, shaking his head.

“No not now. But I’m gonna. I know I am. To be honest I don’t know if I’ve ever really known something like I know that.”

They drove in silence back towards home, until Sybok pulled off the road randomly, next to a large grass field on the back road toward their neighborhood.

“Sybok?” Spock couldn’t help the edge of concern that entered his voice, but Sybok was still smiling as he unbuckled his seat belt and popped open the car door.

“Come on bud.”

Spock was confused, but nevertheless unstrapped himself and followed Sybok out of the car and around the back, letting himself be boosted into the bed of the pick up, Sybok hoping in behind him.

They settled with their backs against the base of the car, and watched as the day faded into night over the field in front of them. They didn’t say anything. But Sybok smiled the entire time, and when the sun finally set over the horizon, Spock pretended not to notice that he wiped a few stray tears out of his eyes before helping Spock back out of the truck and hopping back in the driver’s seat.

“It’s over.” Sybok muttered, hands on the steering wheel, staring at the road in front of him. “It’s over.”

Spock did not know what was over, but he was glad. He was the most glad he’d ever been.

They drove back towards home.

  


**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _maybe when i was the grass you were the ocean, and that’s why we’ve never met before now._

_maybe because we’ve always been born on different worlds and this is just the time the universe got it right._

  


Three more days. He could do anything for three days.

  


**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _u still up?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _Yes._

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _cant sleep?_

**_Sputnock:_ ** _Naturally._

**_Jim the Fool:_ ** _me either._

 

The night before he came home, Jim fell asleep on their video call. Spock watched the camera’s view of the side of his pillow, the slow breathing on the other end almost drowned out by microphone feedback. When he became tired of that, he watched the stars outside his window. One by one, the daylight overtook them. He imagined, that when the last one blinked out, he’d hear Jim’s car rattle into the driveway.

His eyes closed when there were only seven left. And when sleep took him, it was with the assurance that the sun would rise, and he would be home again.

He didn’t realize, in his slumber, that home was Jim.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song this was written to was For You To Be Here by Tom Rosenthal. I am not exagerating when I say this man is the single most consistently beautiful artist I have ever encountered. Every song is a masterpiece. This one, just happens to be the one that makes Spock feel the most when he listens to it. For obvious reasons.
> 
> kobat dushu - Weak Fool


	12. Sick Of Losing Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry bout this one folks. I knew it had to come. It’s been in the plot since day one.
> 
> On a lighter note, also sorry about the delay haha. He aced his calc exam though, managed to pull a narrative essay and a podcast episode out of his ass in one night, and stiLL managed to write all this on the train ride back from the Lord Huron concert he went to this weekend.  
> Excuses? Or Flexing? The world will never know.
> 
> I’m expecting yelling for this chapter. If you would like to yell at me in the form of gifs, my tumblr is greylunar.tumblr.com. 
> 
> I’m just tired friends, but I hope this chapter is.... gooooood??? Good is not the right word. 
> 
> Emotional I guess.
> 
> ....as I have been typing this sitting at the train station I have managed to give away literally all my money i need to go home stat before my jacket is next.
> 
> Signing off for now, but stay tuned for more later! Because the adventure does not end here. It’s got a happy ending tag bros, I wouldn’t lie to you.
> 
> -Taliesin
> 
> TW: Abandonment, physical harm (fighting), bullying, initially refusing to eat but later accepting, friends being BAD FRIENDS, sad boys

**2242**

 

_ “Do you think we’ll be friends forever?” _

__ _ In the morning, Jim looked more like himself. The gold of the sun gathered around him and made it look like the world was built to light him, all soft and glowing so that even the sharpened edges of a boy like himself were dulled into beautiful gentle curves. _

__ _ Spock’s own skin was pale, almost ghostly in the light. Laying in his bed, Jim face to face with him, separated at all points accept where his wrist was lain across Jim’s, an X drawn on the comforter, a promise laid across the fabric. _

__ _ “That is an illogical question.” _

__ _ A laugh. They were hard to earn these days but they still sounded the same, high and ringing, even now that his voice was doing his best to change. _

__ _ “Forever not being a real amount of time isn’t the point of the question, assface.” _

__ _ They were connected. A single point, a tangent line, a instantaneous locality.  _

__ _ This was the first time it wasn’t enough. _

__ _ “That is not why it is illogical. Obviously, Jim. Obviously.” _

 

On the late nights when he was up on the phone with Jim, when all that kept him tethered lying in his bed next to the receiver was the static of the call connection and Jim’s steady breathing, Spock imagined that he could hear Jim’s heartbeat. 

He would tap the pulse of it on his pillow, on his corner table, on his own wrist. Focus all his attention on the imaginary rhythm, the steady beat that, whether it was three doors away or two thousand miles, was keeping Jim alive. Between it all, the static, the breathing, and the beat, he could remind himself that Jim was still alive.

He was still there. 

 

To say that the past few years had been difficult would have been an understatement. Children are never meant to act as life rafts. No one is. But Spock found himself in the unique position of being the last defense between wave after wave of reality crashing over them, and Jim going under. The two boys went through life much like driving over the speed limit in a dark tunnel. The world sped past the boys on either side, out of focus, passing in a claustrophobic blur. The only thing that was clear, was Jim buckled in next to him, steady despite the racing world, and the knowledge that Spock knew that in the end the only way out was forward.When you are young and powerless to the whims of the world, sometimes the only available act of rebellion is that of linear progression. 

Spock could not change the world. But he could exist in spite of it. And perhaps, in his own way, that was the change that mattered.

Jim on the other hand, spited the world at every turn, regardless of whether or not it changed anything. It was how he coped. While Spock took everything the world handed him and let it make him soft, so that it might one day cushion the next blow, Jim had long since forgotten what it meant to be  _ soft.  _ He had lost all malleability. He did not bend in the wind. Jim was straight and tall until he shattered. There was no in-between.

Spock had once seen a bridge collapse on Vulcan. Rocking back and forth, the wires bucking and bowing, reaching the its highest possible peaks and lows as the pressure built until it finally snapped. He saw Jim building tension in much the same way. With every low, with every high, Spock knew that just one more fraction in either direction could push him to the breaking point. 

So he measured heartbeats. Began paying attention to even the smallest details. Ran numbers in his head again and again, calculating escape routes and event horizons, memorizing data points and filing away observations. And after all this he kept coming to the same conclusion.

It would be soon.

 

But you can say “soon” as much as you want. It still always feel like you’ve run out of time.

 

***

 

**Jim the Fool:** _ lol we were supposed to take the shuttle to the airport half an hour ago _

**Jim the Fool:** _ bitch is still passed out hungover _

**Jim the Fool:** _ where r u? ill come meet u he aint getting up anytime soon _

 

Spock huffed out a breath, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his jawline. Winter break had started two days ago, and Jim was supposed to have left for Iowa this afternoon. It was going to be their first Christmas apart in years. However, knowing Frank, it was just as likely they would leave a week from now and make it a New Year’s trip. He was never one for planning. That knowledge didn’t help the bitter weight that hung in his chest at the thought of Jim being somewhere else for what he considered  _ their  _ holiday.

Spock typed a quick message back to Jim, tucking his phone away and leaning back against the cold stone brick of the library’s exterior. He had planned to get a head start on his winter-break reading. Middle school had proven itself to be slightly more stimulating academically, and he was excited to pick his own independent novel. It was a classic science fiction piece. Jim would have liked it. 

Jim liked the cold. It made Spock’s ears go green at the tips, and his breath feel strange when it entered his chest, but other than that he found he didn’t really mind the unusual drop in temperature that California had been experiencing lately. Perhaps it was something to do with ocean currents. He should check out a book on meteorology as well, while he was here.

He let the cool air prick his lungs, breathing in and out. It was quiet here, in the still of a chilly day. The street traffic seemed to freeze along with everything else when the temperature dropped, and Spock enjoyed being the only one about. For a few seconds, he could pretend that he was the only one in the world. The solitude was not frightening to him. More relaxing. After all he was never truly alone. If he closed his eyes, Jim was standing next to him, maybe not visibly, but the weight of his presence hung in the air, and in the absence of not seeing him, Spock could pretend he was there. It wasn’t even technically a lie. Spock may have not known much, but he knew he carried Jim around in his mind as easily as one would a coin in their pocket.

The Jim in his mind sat against the brick wall of the building, glancing up at Spock as he undid his imaginary bracelet. He smiled. 

This Jim never talked. Spock thought perhaps he didn’t need to, already being in Spock’s mind. It was more likely that Spock didn’t want him to. He was scared of getting the voice wrong.

**_“Perhaps we could video chat on Christmas,”_ ** Spock whispered to the imaginary Jim in Vulcan.  **_“It would not be the same, but it would be something.”_ **

**** Imaginary Jim shrugged, tucking a hair behind his ear. It was almost as shaggy as the real Jim’s now was, but Spock never got it quite right.

**_“I purchased you a watch that tracks local planetary orbits. It may be a little big on you, but you will grow into it.”_ **

**** Imaginary Jim did a fist pump that brought a quirk to Spock’s lips. They waited in the cold together. He could go inside, but Jim’s message had stated that he would only take around ten minutes to arrive, so he would rather just wait out here. Spock shuffled, pulling his scarf a little tighter. 

**_“I have considered multiple times referring to you as T’hy’la. I do not think you would know what it means, but the consequences that could arise if you were to search the term-”_ **

**** The picture of Jim froze, and flickered. Footsteps were coming down the alley behind him, and Spock smiled, turning, lips already preparing a witty comment about Jim’s latest Christmas sweater. He mentally prepared himself. He could say it. Jim would never know what it meant, he was barely able to grasp basic Vulcan grammar and had done extensive research, he could say it right now, and Jim would be none the wiser. It would be-

**_“Does the kre’nath have a T’hy’la? Preposterous. Who would love something like_ ** **that?”**

No. Wrong.

Senva stepped around the dumpster, Chu’lak and Duir close behind.

**_“I wonder, is it the human child he chooses to follow like a kicked sehlat? Has he gone so far from the Vulcan way? What do you think, Duir? Is the traitor just another human lover like his father?”_ **

**** He should run. He knew he should run. But his heart had sunk past his stomach and his chest had gone tight and he could only think  _ No, you are wrong, that is not what it is, you’re wrong.  _

**_“Look at him, he cannot even keep the fear from his face. As if he has something to be scared of yet.”_ ** **_  
_ ** His feet had barely considered the idea of moving and they were already on him. Someone grabbed him by the arm. He should run. He could still run. Jim couldn’t see this. He should not care what Jim thought. 

**“** **_Perhaps,”_ ** Senva spat,  **_“We should show him something worthy of his fear.”_ **

**** Senva was right.

He was afraid.

There was something in the air. This time was different. He knew it would be before the first blow even landed. 

_ I miscalculated,  _ Spock thought, barely registering his legs being knocked out from under him.

_ I have made an error.  _ The pavement should have been cold against his cheek, but he couldn’t feel it. Why couldn’t he feel it?

_ They heard me say T’hy’la. They knew who I was talking about.  _

__ _ They will hate me for this.  _

__ A boot crushed into his ribs.

_ There is a likelihood I may die here. It is a possibility. I have to get up. _

__ _ I have to get up before Jim comes. _

__ _ I have to get up for Jim. _

__ The pavement was slick. His hand kept slipping, no matter how many times he pushed against it. For some reason it was very hard to push. 

**_“The coward is still trying to get up. Should we help him?”_ **

**** He was suddenly moving upwards. The back of his head connected with the wall behind him, and he tasted something sweet and coppery in his mouth and the world seemed suddenly much darker than it had a moment before. He started counting, backwards from 257 by thirteens, but he got stuck. What was 127 minus thirteen? He couldn’t remember. It was getting very hard to think. His stomach hurt. Why was his stomach hurting?

The corners of his vision were going green, and Senva said something else but he couldn’t quite make it out.

His mouth tasted funny.

It was very dark out all the sudden.

Senva turned away from him, and Spock tried to move his arm to grab at the hand holding him against the wall, but his arm was heavier than he remembered it being.

Senva seemed distracted. He was saying something. 

It was at this point Spock realized he couldn’t hear. 

Senva let go of him, and Spock was grateful for the half second it took to realize that his legs had failed to support him, and he was no longer upright but rather on his side, cheek pressed into a puddle from last night’s rain.

It seemed very comfortable all the sudden. Like a wet pillow. It was time for him to rest.

There was quite a bit of commotion going on above him. He closed his eyes. He did not have time for this. It was time to rest.

“-ock. Spock! Get up! Don’t close your eyes, get up! Fucking-”

The voice sounded familiar. But very far away. It did not need to matter that far away. He closed his eyes. 

“Spock!”

He cared for the voice. The voice sounded like it cared about him. It made him smile, softly, as he slipped from consciousness.

 

***

 

He did not remember being asleep when he woke up. In fact, he remembered very little at all. Everything hurt, especially his face, which was being slapped.

“Come on buddy you gotta wake up, I need you to wake up okay, I know you’re in there, I know you are come on buddy ground control to Major Tom please come back to Earth you dumb fuck. Please, Spock, please I need you to- CHRIST!”

When Spock opened his eyes, Jim practically launched himself away from him, hurriedly wiping his face on his hoodie sleeve and swearing under his breath.  His face was very dirty. Was that all dirt? Spock was having a hard time thinking.

“You called me buddy,” he said dumbly.

“You were fucking dead,” Jim said back, equally as dumbfounded. His voice was cracking. Had Spock been dead? His head hurt.

“I am going to lie down again now,” Spock stated, already going back to closing his eyes, but before he could Jim grabbed him by the shoulders and slung one of his arms around his neck.

“No, we are standing up, because we have to go. We have to go right now Spock, listen to me, don’t close your eyes, here, keep talking okay, talk to me while we walk.”

“Walking seems illogical,” Spock slurred, even as he straightened up. “Why are we walking again, Jim?”

Jim’s hair smelled like sweat and metal and rain. Spock put his face in it, as they took a few awkward steps forward. Where were they again?

“Walking is important right now, because we have to get out of here. Right now. Big step, come on.” 

“Fascinating,” Spock mumbled, but his foot slipped, and he looked down to see what he tripped on. 

“...Jim?”

“...Really just an unfathomably bad time, Spock.”

“I am standing on the arm of a Vulcan in a healing trance.”

Jim looked down at what appeared to be the corpse below them.

“Oh damn is that what that is? I- that’s. Good, I guess.”

 

Spock unwrapped himself from Jim, who swore as Spock knelt to touch Duir’s bruised face. He was alive. Just barely however.

“What… Jim, what did you do to them?” The fog in his head was clearing. More pressingly, his stomach was starting to drop. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Jim coughed. Spock glanced back at him, only noticing now that Jim had a loose brick in his other hand. It was decidedly green.

“Jim, have you lost all sense?” Spock shakily rose to his feet, anger evident in his voice even in his current state. Perhaps it was because of his current state. He barely recognized what he sounded like, and obviously Jim didn’t either, because he dropped the brick with a start. He started explaining, but Spock only half listened, whipping his head around to survey the scene.

“I was just coming to look for you, and I saw them and I saw you go down and I thought-”

Senva was on his back. Spock stumbled over and quickly flipped him to his side, so he wouldn’t choke in the event he threw up in his trance. His eyes were open. They looked, for the first time Spock had ever seen them, scared.

“And I knew I had to stop them but there were three of them so I grabbed this and I thought if I could just knock them out then I could get you out of here, but they kept coming at me so I kept hitting them and I just-”

Spock was shaking. He knew without having to look back that Jim was as well. You could hear it in his voice.

“Does it matter? We need to go right now, we can take the bus and use the plane tickets Frank bought or some shit, hell, we could snag a shuttle, go to some colony that’s not here we just need to get out of here right fucking now-”

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was steadier than expected when it came out. The world steadied with it, leaving only Jim, jittering and ready to fly at a moments notice. “What are you insinuating we do?”

Jim flung his arms up in the air, and it was only now that Spock realized his eyes weren’t really all there. They were already on a bus, a plane, a shuttle. Part of Jim was already running. 

“I’ve seen where this shit goes Spock I’m not going to juvie like Sammy, okay? And it’s either that or the cops or Frank personally murdering me, we need to get out of here!”

He said we. 

He already assumed Spock was coming with him.

And Spock knew in that moment, in another world, he would.

 

Perhaps it was as simple as if he had been born a human. Perhaps it was more than that. But he knew, somewhere across the multiverse, there was a Spock who’s next steps would be towards the bus stop. One whose hand would reach out and grab Jim’s, unafraid. One who was not always so damn scared of moving forward.

But that was another world. And here, in this one, Spock had just realized he was in love. And probably concussed. And that was enough madness for a single Terran day.

 

“T’hy’la, you are the greatest fool I have ever met,” Spock whispered and Jim blinked at the softness of the tone.

“Spock please man you can’t do this to me right now-”

“Jim Kirk. We are not going anywhere. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth. I would follow you beyond. You know this. But we could not survive on our own. You know this too.”

Jim was quiet. His breathing heavy. Even silent he was so very real.

“Jim,” Spock continued, walking towards him and grabbing him by the shoulders, although whether it was to steady Jim or himself was unknown. “You cannot run your entire life.”

“Y’ never let me run from anything,” Jim mumbled.

“You are correct. I do not. In most cases, such as now, it is illogical.”

Jim looked up at him. Against the muck and blood on his face, his eyes were incredibly blue. 

“I’m never gonna stop trying.”

Spock couldn’t help it. He laughed. What a fool he was, to love so inverse a creature from all he was born to know. Now, of all times, when the world could only ever take him away.

“No. You won’t.”

 

They stood there. He imagined they were quite a picture, the two of them standing as the sun set early. Not gold this time. Just… pale.

Jim lifted his hands up, and placed them on top of Spock’s on his shoulder. 

He was scared.

But Spock didn’t need to be Vulcan to know that.

 

“Perhaps one day when we are older we will run and we will never look back. You will take me to the stars, and I will show you other worlds. And we will simply go on like that.”

Spock did not know if he was speaking more out loud or with his mind. He supposed it might have been his heart.

“But today is not that day. Today we are young and lost. And today I am going to call the hospital, and we are going to deal with this, and it will be…  _ remarkably _ awful. But I will still be here. I will always be here.”

 

_ What if I’m not?  _ Jim had a unique way of being able to feel _ at _ Spock. Spock had never met someone who was able to convey that sort of thought to him. Perhaps it was just because Jim was so damn loud.

“Would you leave me, James Tiberius Kirk?” 

Jim stared at him. It was a dangerous question.

Everyone Jim cared about had left. The world was designed so Jim Kirk could easily leave it, and to say that he wouldn’t leave Spock, that was a promise.

A promise the world had never been kind enough to make him.

 

“No.” Jim whispered. “Never.”

 

And so they sat together, in the midst of the Californian winter.

And Spock called the cops.

 

***

Commander Pike was not in the habit of bailing out twelve year olds from county holding.

“I’m here to pick up James T. Kirk, and uh, shit um,   S'chn T'gai Spock? Did I say that right?” The woman from behind the desk gave him a raised eyebrow.

“And you are?”

“Starfleet Commander Christopher Pike, uh, Spock’s mom called, she’s out of town on a trip and asked me to pick her sons- I mean her son and his friend up?”

The woman was wearing very bright red lipstick. It made Pike feel vaguely outdone, in his off duty clothes, a beaten leather flight jacket and some worn down denim pants. Admittedly, it was 11pm on a Tuesday. On his day off. 

So You Think You Can Dance had been on.

“Do you have some form of identification?”

Pike fumbled with his I.D and after answering a few more questions and signing some papers, eventually he was directed to a room where Jim and Spock were sitting on a bench. The two were huddled together, Spock’s head on Jim’s shoulder, nearly asleep despite the awkward angle. When he entered, they both perked up, Jim a little faster than Spock.

“Chris!” Jim looked relieved, but confused, whereas Spock didn’t look like much of anything at all except beaten the hell out of.

“Commander Pike. I assume you were able to receive my mother’s communication.”

“Yeah,” Pike awkwardly stepped around the guard who had unlocked the door for him. “Quite a day you guys have had, huh? I’m gonna drive y’all home. If that’s alright? I know Spock’s parents are on the first shuttle back from Bajor but that might not get here till later tonight, so… yeah.”

Jim’s eyes flickered to the door.

“What about Frank? Has he called the station back?”

Pike sighed.

“Yeah it looks like earlier he went to Santa Barbara to meet up with a friend. He said he’d swing by Spock’s house tomorrow to pick you up.”

The air was quiet and still in the wake of his words. Jim just nodded, rising and made sure Spock was steady as he stood. He didn’t leave his side, even as they walked out the door while still trying to inhabit the same space as each other. Pike didn’t comment.

They drove home in Pike’s car, an old Dodge Challenger that smelled vaguely of McDonalds. The boys sat in the back seat, Pike having cleared it off by throwing the trash in a pile in the passenger’s seat instead.

“Gonna be honest with you guys, I’m not the most amazing driver but its only a dozen miles or so to your house, so just like, put your seatbelts on, alright?”

“Why are you a bad driver?” Jim asked. He had relaxed slightly, now that a night separated him from the consequences of his actions. His hand was buried in Spock’s hair, who was still balancing on the edge of going back into his healing trance and seemed only partially conscious, slumped against his friend.

“Don’t like cars,” Chris mumbled, adjusting his mirrors a third time and starting up the rumbling engine.

Jim was baffled.

“What do you like then?”

“Horses,” Pike stated plainly, before swearing under his breath as he backed out of the station parking lot. 

 

When they got home, Spock groggily entered the garage code. Sybok wouldn’t be back from Berkeley until Tuesday, and the house was dark until Pike groped around for a lighting pad. 

“This is quaint,” Pike chirped as Jim helped Spock take his coat and boots off. 

Spock responded in Vulcan. Jim snickered.

“He asked what your house was like. Except, I think he messed up the conjugation because the way I learned it that means like… animal cave.”

Spock said something else in Vulcan. Even in a foreign language, Pike could hear the sass.

Jim laughed again, and looked at Pike expectantly. 

“Uh well, I have an apartment at the academy for when I’m in town for short periods of time for work. But I’ve got a ranch in Mojave I stay at when I’m on leave for real.” Spock seemed incredibly baffled by the stairs, but very intent on getting up them for some reason. Pike kicked his shoes off, muttered a  _ scuse me kid,  _ and hefted the boy into his arms, Jim tagging along behind them as he carried Spock upstairs. “It’s uh, I mean it’s a family house from like, homestead times, but since it’s just me it’s mostly just, I dunno, big? I’ve got some horses, ‘cept they stay at Beto’s stables most of the year cause I can’t take care of them all the time. Got a couple of acres, a little farmhouse, I mean little might be an understatement. I know my Grandpap filled that place with like, ten brothers and sisters. But it’s nice. ‘S got a well. If you’re into that.”

Jim opened the door to Spock’s room, and Pike laid him down on the bed despite some fairly aggressive Vulcan phrases that he assumed translated roughly to “don’t treat me like a child.”

But today had been rough. They deserved to be children for once.

 

Pike said nothing as Jim crawled in bed next to the already practically unconscious Spock, wrapping around him protectively. It would have been funny, the tiny boy trying to encircle as much of his friend as possible, if it hadn’t been so damn sad.

“I’m gonna wait downstairs until Ms. Grayson and Sarek get back,” Pike shifted awkwardly, edging towards the door. “You guys need anything?”

“Cocoa,” Jim murmured, burying his face into Spock’s knit sweater.

Pike nodded, shutting the door behind him.

 

***

 

“What are we gonna do?” Jim asked, trying to pull up the excessive amount of blankets Spock used while refusing to detach more of an inch of himself from Spock.

“I am unsure,” Spock whispered, and his voice sounded smaller in his own home than it had at the jail. Then, it had all been a dream. Now, he was barely sure he was awake, and he knew everything was terrifyingly real. “My mother will be home soon, and we can discuss with her what our next move is. For now, we need to sleep.”

Jim snickered, despite it all, tucking his chin into Spock’s shoulder.

“What happened to Vulcans being able to go without sleep for two weeks?”

“You happened.”

 

It was quiet. 

For about two seconds.

Which was how nights with Jim usually went.

 

“Am I bad for you?”

Spock blinked. He blinked again. He kicked his socks off underneath the covers, and turned around to his other side so that he was nose to nose with Jim.

“Jim.”

It was a credit to Jim’s stubbornness that he didn’t shy away from the gaze Spock pinned him with.

“Spock.”

“Never ask me that question again.”

“You know, never is basically the most illogical word there is because like, there’s so many possibilities out there that saying never is like-”

“James. Tiberius. Kirk.” Spock reached up a hand, and put it on the pillow between them. “You have never, and will never, be bad for me.”

Jim, hesitantly, closed his eyes and laid his hand on the back of Spock’s so that only their wrists were touching. 

Still, he whispered, “I’m bad for everyone else.”

It was different. The way his voice sounded, the hum under his skin. But Spock couldn’t think enough to tell what it meant.

“You are,” Spock whispered, pressing their foreheads together, trying as best he could to project something that made sense, “and will always be, my friend.”

 

When Pike came in fifteen minutes later with cocoa he had somehow managed to burn, the two boys were tangled up in each other, fast asleep.

 

***

 

“Spock… Spock wake up.”

_ His dream was very lovely. It was cool water and a dark comforting sky and something warm in his chest. _

“I, I have to go for a bit, okay? But I’ll be back I promise. It’s all going to be fine, alright?”

_ He was so tired. He couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t remember why he wanted to open his eyes. _

__ “You’re gonna be okay. You’ve got Daichi, and T’Ali, and Callum, and I know Sybok is gonna look after you. Your mom too.”

_ His dream changed color. It was very blue now. He couldn’t tell if the blue made him happy or sad but it made him want to sleep in it forever. _

__ “Your mom came home. I asked… I asked her what some Vulcan words meant. Wanted to get my cave conjugation thing right.”

_ Was he crying? Something was wet on his face. He didn’t think he was crying. _

__ “I’ll see you around, T’hy’la. I promise.”

_ The blue left, and he didn’t dream anymore. _

 

***

 

When Spock woke up, it took him a moment to remember where he was. In fact, he had walked down stairs and was already in the kitchen making himself cereal when he remembered anything at all.

He set the bowl down, very slowly. 

He considered looking around the house, but he already knew what he would find.

Jim was gone. 

  
  


***

 

It was a month and a half before Spock saw him again.

A month and a half of winter break and back to classes. Of no Jim in the halls. Of unanswered texts. Of a house down the street without any lights on. 

Of tapping heartbeats on his pillow, not knowing whether or not the boy they belonged to was still feeling them on the other side. 

It was a Wednesday. January 16th. Spock was walking back to the library after fifth period. There was no point in eating lunch in the cafeteria now.

He almost missed him. Looking back, he wondered if Jim had gone to school days before, and he just hadn’t seen him. But at the time, turning a corner and seeing Jim talking to Tony Marettii and a few other boys in the locker lined hallway, all he could think was  _ his hair is darker. Why is his hair darker? _

__ “Jim!” It was out of his mouth before he considered. Before he calculated.

And so he wasn’t expecting it. The slight turn of the head. The sliver of held eye contact.

The turn. The walk, in the other direction.

Away.

Even after, sitting in the bathroom, shaking, trying to breathe, the numbers didn’t line up. But the next day, it happened again. And again. And again.

No matter how many times he calculated, he didn’t understand.

But it didn’t matter that he didn’t understand.

It did not change the fact that Jim Kirk was pretending he didn’t existed.

 

And he fucking  _ felt  _ it.

 

***

 

  1. _273\. 260._



The second time his mother found him shaking, unable to hear or respond, on the floor of the bathroom, he got a therapist. It was March before they gave up and decided that Spock sitting silently in front of the Psych for an hour every week wasn’t helping anyone.

 

  1. _156\. 143_



 

__ “Ashal-veh, you need to talk to me, sweetheart,” his mother’s voice hurt to hear.

“About what, mother?”

“You’re… you’re hurting darling.”

“I am recieving top marks in all my classes. My extracurriculars are strong. I am reading more than ever. I do not see a problem with my current behavior.”

“Spock…”

“I believe I will retire now. Excuse me.”

 

  1. _52\. 39._



__ “Spock. Amanda would like you to know that dinner is ready,”

“I am not hungry, father.”

“It is Plomeek soup.”

“I assure you that I am not hungry.”

“I made it this time.”

“...I will be right down.”

 

  1. _13\. 0_



 

__ “Father?”

“Yes Spock?”

“I… I would like to go back to Vulcan. To continue my studies. For the future.”

“Are you certain, child?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“I will call the embassy tomorrow.”

 

***

 

It was strange.

Seeing the Earth as a pale blue dot in the distance.

Spock refastened his seatbelt. His mother put a hand on his knee.

“Why don’t you rest until we’re home, Ashal-veh?”

Spock nodded and tried not to picture what Home looked like.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song this chapter was written to was Sick Of Losing Soulmates by Dodie. Saw her a couple weeks ago live and guys she’s ETHERAL I love that beautiful woman and how she treats her loving fan base. Song hurts like a mother fucker though.


	13. Funeral Pyre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG QUESTION TO READERS: Do you want a chapter from Jim's perspective of the time they spend apart? Or do you just want to move forward with the plot?
> 
> Back to our regularly scheduled programming:
> 
> Hello hello friends!
> 
> I tried to keep the last author's note vague and brief so as not to yell about the surprises I had in store for y'all, but I get to be chatty again in this one. First of all, this has gotten way longer and has been read by WAY more people than I ever thought it would be and that is so crazy. The fact that this is almost the length of a full nanowrimo and we're no where near done yet is so crazy to me and your support has been amazing and been making that possible. SPEAKING OF SUPPORT!!!
> 
> YA BOI GOT ART
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/142086517@N05/43148877970/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> The wonderful limeou drew me THIS of our sweetest boys and I like, cried. I cried guys. Art?? Of my thing???? The amazing feeling that that sort of acknowledgement gave me is like out of this world so thank you so much to limeou.
> 
> Also, yes, I'm a big meanie and I put angst in this. SHORT TERM ANGST. That will fuel the rest of the story. THE TAG WAS SLOW BURN Y'ALL, you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?
> 
> Anyways, I love you all so much, so thank you, and tune in for more updates. My tumblr is greylunar if you want to check out aesthetics for this fic and headcannons and such, or just say hi!
> 
> Hope this finds you well, and that you enjoy this chapter,  
> Taliesin

Being on Vulcan after Earth was like waking up from a dream you could never quite remember having. Despite everything about Vulcan assuring him it was solid, factual, tangible, Spock couldn’t help but feel like he was always still half asleep, waiting for the part of him he had left in that other world to come join him on the next. It was like taking off a backpack you had worn for years. It may not have been on, but he could still feel the ghost of it hanging over his shoulders, and he was left constantly wondering if he’d left something important somewhere. It was not the weight that bothered him, it was its presence even in its absence. The sensation made everything seem two toned, like old-fashioned three dimensional glasses. Vulcan was tinted, a world of green overlaid with a world of blue.

The gravity had helped. The first few weeks after he had returned had been a constant reminder he was tethered to this planet now, his steps shorter, his breathing heavy after walking long distances. But when he had grown accustomed to it, the sky no longer felt like it was tying him to the ground, and he started carrying rocks around. Heavy, smooth things that filled his pockets and kept him always anchored. Grounded.

It was ironic. When he had first come to Earth, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always on the verge of drifting away. Yet he still felt that way here, despite the reassuring pull downwards.

 

Vulcan could claim to be real all it wanted. But it never felt real  _ enough.  _

 

The time he spent there passed slowly, but with little issue. At first, he had worried that the harassment would continue now that he was surrounded daily by his full blooded peers. But it seemed as rumors crossed galaxies they became muddled up and tangled in fiction, and somehow Jim had been erased from the violent end to his bullying on Earth, leaving Spock the sole actor in his defense. Having somehow taken on three full blooded older Vulcans with his bare hands and rendering them unconscious. Here, Spock was thought of as some secretly shredded madman. It did not matter to him, of course. As long as he was left undisturbed, nothing mattered. 

And for the first few weeks, he was. He took to reading avidly again, although now it was more centered around the arts and poetry, most likely rooted in how he missed his brother. Whatever the reasoning, he began carrying used paper books with him, no longer minding the texture of the pages, the dog ears, the annotated markings. He would order them from all over the Federation, and many a night was spent on the balcony, reading in the heat under the light of the outdoor salt lamps. The insects buzzing from the depths of the canyons kept him company. They, and the words, kept the world from going quiet.

If none of the books that were delivered to his door were ever by Terran authors, that was simply a coincidence.

He went on walks with his mother, letting the desert become familiar again, pleased to find that despite the shifting winds little of the fundamental landmarks he had cherished as a child had changed. They walked in silence for the most part. Amanda never talked, never pressed him or asked any questions. He supposed she must have been giving him time to prepare. But he never said anything. 

It was better that way, he thought. The desert spoke for itself.

 

Of course his solitude was not so easily maintained for long. T’Pring appeared on his doorstep after about a month had passed, her arrival proclaimed by a perfect .75 second press of the doorbell. He had opened up the front hatch of the estate to see her standing there, straight as a line. Even her hair was piled upwards in intricate knots above her head, a balancing act that seemed to be the fashion of most young Vulcan girls these days. He had not seen many examples, but knowing her, he was now looking at the best execution of the style.

“ S'chn T'gai,” she stated as soon as the door opened, and her tone was calculating, but lacking in heat. It was lower now, but it still carried the same balanced melody it always had.

“T’Pring. You are welcome as always,” Spock said, but despite his words he did his best to meet her eyes without  _ truly  _ meeting her eyes. When he was a child and they had played games together in her parent’s terraced gardens, he had irrationally believed that T’Pring could read minds. He knew now this was not the case, despite then always knowing his hiding place. The reality of it was much more terrifying. She could read people.

She stepped inside, the crystals hemming her dress jingling slightly, glancing around the new home Spock’s family had moved into. Now that they were back on Vulcan, they had gotten a much larger living space so that Sarek could host important political events and guests. His mother, he firmly believed, had outdone herself with the interior design, but it was perhaps a clash of cultures that T’Pring was unused to. 

She did not comment on it. In true fashion, she gave him one look up and down before she cut to the chase.

“I assumed after you did not greet me shortly after your arrival that something had happened on the Terran planet. I considered that perhaps you had chosen the same path as your step-brother, and rejected the Vulcan way. But it appears you have not.” Her eyes flickered to his unkempt hair, awkward from styling after attempting to wrestle the grown out style into something presentably Vulcan, although she showed little reaction to it.

“However, the truth of the matter is now obvious to me, being in your presence. Our bond has been broken, has it not?” Delicately, but with great efficiency, she reached out, pressing two fingers to the side of his neck. Before Spock could protest or recoil, she jerked her hand back herself as quickly as she reached out. As if burned. 

Seconds passed like that, her hand hovering between them, her gaze questioning and perhaps surprised, before she coughed awkwardly and bowed her head.

“ **Ni'droi'ik nar-tor,** I did not realize, I would not have touched you if I had known you had already been re-bonded.”

Spock blinked.

“ **Ra?** What are you talking about?”

“You are bonded, I can sense it on you. Do not partake in games with me, S’chn T’gai. We are both aware of the results.”

Frowning, Spock gazed down at his own hands. “Do not be foolish T’Pring, you know as well as I do not have a new bond, you are the only one I have undergone Kah-ka with, despite my absence. It is not as if I could have replaced your bond if I tried…” 

Gently, she reached out, this time to the back of his hand, and pressed a single fingertip to it.

She was quiet. And when she spoke next, her voice was softer. Gentle, almost.

“The human. I can feel him on you. You...” but she did not finish the sentence, trailing off as a defense mechanism. Finally she just said, “T’hy’la.”

Very, very slowly, he pulled away from her touch. She did not look up this time, as he pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his exposed skin. He glared at it as it disappeared under the fabric. The traitor.

When he spoke again, he could not keep it from sounding choked.

“I do not have a bond mate, T’Pring. With your permission, I would greatly prefer it if I were to never have one.”

A second of hesitation. And then she restacked her shoulders, and looked him over. For the first time, he allowed himself to look back.  Her features had gotten sharper. Daichi would have made the joke that she was the kind of woman who could cut you up with a stare. Her eyeshadow was a shimmering metallic, her neck and wrists adorned with green beryl beads, which she had woven into her braids- neatly and systematically organized. He could smell her hair product from here. She was perfect, in the sense that he had never before let himself consider another definition of perfection.

He thought of T’Ali. How she had cried when he left, how he most likely still had glitter on his cheeks from where she had pressed their faces together hugging goodbye. He thought of her torn jeans, her finger knit scarves. He thought of Callum, quietly whirring, hiccuping at the station saying his goodbyes, as his programming tried to balance his internal emotions. Of Daichi, begrudgingly nodding, hat pulled low as he gave a mock salute, making some space cowboy reference Spock didn’t understand. 

He thought of how, when he boarded the shuttle, he had turned around one last time to see Callum take Daichi’s hand, and then T’Ali’s, the three of them standing there holding each other while he left them behind.

What would it be like, to be another Vulcan? To not see that as beautiful?

 

He knew what perfection was. And he did not want another’s definition of it.

 

“You love him. But you do not want him. It is strange, that we would end up at so inverse of dilemmas.”

Spock pulled himself out of his revelry, glancing back up at T’Pring, who appeared to be deep in thought.

“To what do you refer?”

T’Pring smiled. It was the first time he had ever seen her do so, to his recollection.

“You think yourself so special, to be the only Vulcan who has discovered love. It has long since past the time where I considered the idea of marrying you to be in my future Spock. There is another in my life. I have chosen him to be my partner, when the time comes.”

Spock was taken aback.

“So, what now? **_Kal-if-fee_** _?” Please not kal-if-fee,_ he thought. _I am far too young to die for one who doesn’t want me._

The miniscule eye roll that T’Pring gave him would be enough to fall a lesser man.

“The Vulcan way is filled with, how shall I say it… dramatization of simple concepts. While I do enjoy drama in its finer moments, this is not a practical time for it. If I were older, it would have to be so, but now the more socially conscious route is to go about the dissolution of our betrothal quietly, while preserving the political relationship between our two families and my own social stature. A difficult task, but a worthy challenge for my pursuit. Under the circumstances that all goes well, most of Vulcan will have forgotten we were ever bonded by the time I have finished.”

An echo in his head that sounded a lot like Jim whistled. He pushed it away.

“This seems more than acceptable. I am in your debt.”

T’Pring nodded, and turned back toward the door, the conversation seemingly finished. The skirt of her dress spun with her. He wondered if she had worn it for such a purpose. 

Before she shut the door, however, she looked back at him, seemingly pondering. 

Finally she said, “If you would wish it, you should feel free to gather with the group of platonic mates I have acquired in your absence.”

Spock did not know what to make of that.

“It seems strange, for you to make such an offer.” T’Pring had never been one for sharing.

Infinitesimally, she shrugged.

“I would not object. If you chose to do so. I do not love you Spock. But that does not mean I do not care.”

And she shut the hatch behind her, her dress swaying in the wind.

 

In the end, he had gone with her to see Stonn and the others. It was strange socializing with other Vulcans after so long, but they allowed him into their group with little resistance. They mostly sat at a cafe in downtown ShiKhar and discussed their studies over favinit tea, gossiping in their own ways about the goings on at school and the political climate. No matter how long they talked, no matter how many days passed he always caught himself in moments turning to tell a shadow who wasn’t there something. He could not help but see the spaces Jim should have been in, distracted by the emptiness on the edge of his periphery so used to being filled with him. He stayed with the Vulcans, because he needed to get out of the house. He could no longer stand the quiet. 

For the quiet wasn’t silent anymore. It simply told the story of his absence.

 

Of course, it wasn’t as if the years before disappeared. Not all of it was bad either. He soon found what he and Jim had taught themselves throughout the years had coincidentally given him a sharp advantage over the rest of the Vulcan students. Not only did he quickly rise to the top of his classes, but his skills in coding gave him something close to infamy. He became well known for creating battle simulation puzzles, taking ideas from the endless reserve of command games played over wood chips and tweaking them to make them his own, until eventually he started creating his own scenarios and games entirely. T’Pring believed it was a waste of his talents, making games instead of something useful. He always shrugged her off, although other than testing his code he never played them himself.

Imagine his surprise when a starfleet officer called him, asking if he could use one of his simulations and adapt it to be used in a training facility. 

Imagine his surprise when it was the Kobayashi Maru, out of all of them.

 

It made him smile, when he got the communication. Jim would have been livid.

 

He dreamt more than he ever had. At first it had just been simple things, pale gold grass in the sun, cold water on a foggy day. Paper snowflakes hanging from a star filled sky. In every one, he was just on the edge, knowing that if he reached just a little further and grasped whatever was on the other side of the dream he would… well, he didn’t know what would happen. Every time, he woke up with a start after having pushed a little too far, crossing whatever invisible line he had not known he was not supposed to pass, and destroying the integrity of the faux reality. More often than once, the stars came tumbling down with the snow, and he was left running from one to the other, not knowing where to reach out to catch the most important one before it hit the ground.

One night, everything was a blur. And he knew, he just  _ knew  _ that Jim’s face was somewhere in the haze of it, if he could just find it, if he just took the right turn, didn’t miss a step. And he almost got there, he could feel him, hear the echo of him tucked into the warmth on the edge of his mind, and when he reached out to pull away the curtain of haze and see him…

He woke up.

And he realized he couldn’t remember what exactly Jim looked like.

His mother had found him retching in the bathroom sink, tears streaming down his face and breath coming in heaves. She gathered the then-fourteen Spock into her arms and rocked him until the shaking stopped, until he stopped blabbering about colors, always  _ grey or blue, grey or blue, grey or blue. _

 

When Tarsus IV had come on the news over the television, it had been something else entirely.

_ Today, shocking news has reached the Federation of the destruction reaped by Govenor Kodos in the Earthen colony of Tarsus IV. After an fungal plague destroyed a majority of the population’s food supply, Kodos implemented the systematic killing of four thousand colonists to his own theory of eugenics, under the pretense that the others might live. _

_ Earth Forces and Federation Aid Corps volunteers arrived at the scene after receiving anonymous signals from a hacker on planet who managed to send for help despite Kodos’ planet wide signal scrambling, but they were unable to stop the nearly four thousand deaths that occurred before they arrived. _

This was about when Spock looked up from his differential calculus. It was also when Jim’s face popped up on screen.

_ Among only nine to survive are Thomas Leighton, Kevin Riley, James T. Kirk… _

 

He should have panicked. He should have screamed. But instead he just paused the television, ignoring the death count and instead looking at the grainy black and white photo of a boy of fifteen who had nearly starved to death hundreds of light years away.

And then he turned the television off. And walked away.

His father never brought it up. But he never heard about the tragedy, or even remembered the news being on the tv after that.

 

Despite it all he still graduated from secondary education a year earlier than most Vulcans did. In fact, it might have been because of it, filling his time with studies so he wouldn’t have to think. But regardless, he was eighteen when Sybok flew back home back for the ceremony. In Spock’s opinion, this was far better than the ceremony itself, even if just to see T’Pring’s face when she took in Sybok, with his half shaved head and outfit consisting of a pink blazer and a t shirt that proclaimed to the world “I Think Dogs Should Vote!”

Sybok had graduated Berkley a few years earlier, and was now pursuing his doctorate in psychology at Stanford, which he claimed was dreadfully boring.

“Ames is doing amazing, though.”

They were sharing stories (mostly Sybok’s) over mulled rosenberry tea, and at this Spock couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“She’s amazing. Really brilliant. Studying law, if you didn’t remember.”

He hadn’t. He had not thought about Amy in a long time.

“Although I know your feelings for her, it is ironic in a sense that you would be engaged to a rule follower.”

Sybok snickered, slightly snorting some of his tea.

“Dunno if I’d call her that. She’s gonna be an LGBTQ+ civil rights lawyer. There are still quite a few planets that aren’t on board with equal marriage rights, not even considering adoption rights and like, equal working environments. There’s places that wouldn’t even let people like Ames live and present how they want.” He smiled down at his glass, swirling the purple liquid slightly, a far off look in his eyes. “She’s not gonna change the world. She’s gonna change the whole damn universe.”

Spock let Sybok’s mind wander off, raising a hand to the cafe waiter to signal for the check. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to all that. It was commendable. It was just… not something often spoken about on Vulcan. The waiter brought the check. They sat in silence for a while. 

In the end, it was Sybok who spoke first.

“You could tell Mom and Dad. They wouldn’t… they would support everything.”

Spock sighed, shrugging slightly, old habits coming back with Sybok’s return. 

“It is irrelevant. T’Pring has found a new betrothed and I have been left to my own devices. No Vulcan piques my interest. I highly doubt one ever will.”

“And yet you still choose to remain here.” Sybok took another sip of his tea, although it was likely it had long gone cold. “To attend the Academy.”

Spock’s lips twitched, in what could have been considered a downward direction.

“That has always been my goal.”

“It has always been your goal, but that does not mean it is what you want,” Sybok said, and the way he looked at Spock made him seem older than he was. It made Spock feel like a little boy again, reading books next to his older brother on a couch in a home he no longer had. “I am asking you now Spock, before you promise yourself to this world that does not deserve you. What do you want, in your heart?”

A ka'athyra was echoing from the restaurant patio down the street. The music had been transcribed to the instrument. It was human. Bach, Cello Suite No. 1. Too simple, for such an advanced instrument. But perhaps simple was not the right word.

It seemed to be all he could think about, even as the waiter brought their change back.

“I do not know,” he answered finally.

It did not feel like an answer at all.

 

_ No matter what you choose, I will be a proud mother. _

“It is truly remarkable that you have achieved so much, despite your disadvantage.”        

He knew he had worked too hard for this. He knew he had given up too much, too much time, too much worry, too many late nights for it all to be undone by a single comment. But the words that seemed to echo from his youth came spilling out of his mouth before the counsel, just as they would any other Vulcan.

“If you could clarify, minister, to what disadvantage are you referring?”

Sarek’s eyes flicked towards him, and Spock knew he was better than this, that he had chosen the Vulcan way, that he had  _ chosen _ already, why was everyone acting like he still had to fucking choose?

“Your human mother. Your time on Earth. It is remarkable you have come so far despite your weakness.”

_ Don’t gotta understand anything. You’re just as smart as them, you’re just as brave as humans, and you actually care about things. So what if you’re different, you’re better different- _

_ You’re better different. _

_ You are better different. _

 

“Council, Ministers, I must decline.”

The outrage was clear on the head minister's face. 

“No Vulcan has ever declined admission into this academy.”

“Correct.” Spock’s glare was dark, but even so he felt his chin align itself a little higher, felt his back straighten. “I will be the first.”

And he turned on his heel and marched out.

 

***

 

He sent a portfolio to Starfleet the next week. They replied quickly.

**_Interview: Stardate - 2251.7, Time - 1400, Number One_ **

 

_ *** _

 

“Admittedly Spock, you are not the average Starfleet case.”

Number One was an interesting woman, in the sense that she moved like a dancer and had the attitude of a suit of armor. Every word was guarded, but every statement fluid. She spoke in a way that reminded him of a harpist, but one playing Shostakovich instead of irish hymns.

“I apologize, but I am afraid I do not fully understand what you mean Officer.”

A smile pulled at her lips, a line drawn to a curve like a bowstring. That was what it was. She reminded him of a drawn weapon.

“Starfleet is not many people’s second choice Mister Spock. It is rigorous, competitive, and for most of us it is a lifelong job. I am not saying you don’t have the talent for it, your qualifications speak for themselves. What I mean is that this sort of life,” she leaned forward in her chair, just barely entering the sphere of his personal space, one centimeter too close for the environment to put him on the defensive. “It takes dedication. It helps if you have a cause. Something you are working for perhaps. Do you have that, Spock?”

Spock considered this. It was not as if he knew why he was here, sitting in the study of an Executive Officer, back on Earth, back in California. When he had asked Sybok if he could stay at his home for the duration of the interview process, he had been ecstatic. But Spock wasn’t. The obvious answer to such a question was that no, he did not have a cause. He was here, realistically, because it was the second best school in the Federation. More honestly it was most likely he was simply still in shock from what had happened at the Vulcan Academy, and this was just his brain’s twisted way of coping with the situation. He didn’t know what he stood for, what he was working for. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. It felt as if he had spent the last six years of his life drifting and Number One was asking him to become solid again.

“I do not think I do, Officer.”

 

Number One nodded. She began packing up her papers, and Spock instinctively began to plan what he would tell his father if he had failed to educate himself at Starfleet either.

And then Number One handed him a folder.

“Perhaps you will be an exception. Here, I suppose, is a good a place as any to find a cause. Orientation is in two weeks. Good luck, Cadet.”

Spock had the sinking feeling that he had just signed a pact with the Terran devil. The way Number One was now smiling at him did not help erase this concept from his mind, but he shook her outstretched hand anyways, and when he called Sybok to tell him the the news, the sound of him and Amy screaming on the phone comforted him.

In two weeks, the Starfleet emblem was proudly waving on a large red banner overhead as recruits streamed into the orientation hall.

_ Welcome to Starfleet,  _ it said.

And Spock, hesitantly, carefully, allowed himself to feel like perhaps something was starting.

  
  
  


And then of course Jim came, and fucked it all up.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to Funeral Pyre by Julien Baker. For the best sobs.


	14. Drama Bitch

Of course he beat the Kobayashi Maru. Of course he did.

Mr. No-Win Scenario Spock's ass.


	15. Don't Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit rougher than I would like it to be, but I really wanted to get it out today!
> 
> I made a post about my headcannons for appearances of these characters since I have kind of combined AOS and TOS canon (especially as we progress forward into actual plot) but I took them down because I got some comments saying I was talking too much about myself and taking away from the story lol. But if you're interested in seeing photos of what I picture for these characters, feel free to message me on tumblr (greylunar) and I'll send them to you!
> 
> It's been a wild week for me with the move and trying to get my new job at the laboratory, but the more I write these authors notes the more I realize every week is a wild week haha. But! It's amazing readers like you that inspire me to keep posting and being a part of this lovely little internet community we've all put together.
> 
> Again, to put the offer out there, if there's a headcannon you want to see in this fic (especially since we're now introducing canon crew members), just comment it or send it to me on tumblr! Do you wanna see Uhura and Gailia together? Do you think Scotty is secretly a punk rock icon? Is Chekov actually thirty puppies in a Russian suit? IS SPOCK A BOTTOM OR A TOP? let me know haha. Got an OC? I'll shove them in here. This shit is gonna be like 30-40 chapters you bet we're gonna need some enterprise crew ocs.
> 
> Anyways, thank you as always for reading, and happy Spook Month!  
> -Taliesin

**2254**

 

It was exactly the type of bar Spock hated. Humans have always been inventive, but particularly excelled in the science of getting absolutely shit faced. Quasinotem had the experience down to a mathematical formula. With all the flashing lights set to the perfectly timed rhythm, neon drinks with perfectly calculated alcohol contents, and off planet girls losing themselves on the dance floor, the bar was a human partier’s golden ratio. So of course, the pre-launch party was being held here. In fact, the place was already packed with cadets, familiar faces normally confined to the academy’s hallways getting lost in the maze of the crowd and artificial smoke that smelled simultaneously of maraschino cherries and some sort of musky poppy scent. 

Their last day Earthbound. The graduating class would soon populate the Ensign ranks of a myriad of brand new explorer class ships. It was in fact, their last day as students, but as Sulu insisted when he had made that comment, at Starfleet one never really stops learning.  _ Yes,  _ Spock had bit back,  _ there are far too many near death scenarios for one to be sedentary.  _ To which Hikaru had just laughed and clinked their glasses together.

Which, made it even more ridiculous that he was here. They had already celebrated, he had even consumed alcoholic content, and yet Nyota and Hikaru had insisted that he come out for the class wide event. 

Spock had never been a fan of pointless redundancy. But he was certainly not a fan of parties.

Nevertheless, he had came, and stepping in the sliding glass doors made to look like an airlock he was overcome easily by the crowd. Dancing elbows and shouting conversationalists buffered him towards the back of the room, and he swore under his breath as he craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of his friends. He managed to spot Nyota, dancing with Gaila right next to the massive speaker, which pulsated in rainbow LEDs along to the music. The DJ yelled something indiscernible and the two, along with the rest of the crowd they were dancing with, threw their arms up in the air and hollered in response. Hikaru was nowhere in sight.

Spock sighed, turning away from the wild crowd and making his way toward the bar, already resigned to spend the night alone sitting at the back. He would get some water, stay long enough for Nyota or Hikaru to see him to prove he was there, and then duck out before things inevitably got out of hand. 

_ How celebratory of me,  _ he thought, but even the sarcasm was dulled by the volume of the music. So he pushed in the direction of the low lit bar tucked in the back corner. He should have brought ear plugs. 

He sidled up behind a man who, based on the sheer amount of empty glasses in front of him, had already claimed two thirds of the alcohol in existence this side of Alpha Centauri, and raised his hand toward the bartender.

“Excuse me, may I request some water in a opaque cup-”

The room groaned as microphone feedback and laughter erupted from the DJ’s stage, the music volume lessening behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up you shits, not you Bones, I live off your booing. Real quick, I’m gonna make the best speech you’ve ever heard and then y’all can get back to grinding on each other and getting in your last Terran lay for the next ten years.”

Even as the room filled with well meaning laughter, Spock’s ears twitched involuntarily, his stomach sinking. He could just… stay facing the bar, he wouldn’t even have to turn around and see him. Nothing was making him turn around. Spock could just ignore the voice and the muffled feedback that filled the room, as if flaunting how near he was.

Spock could. But he turned around anyways.

 

He had gotten taller. Spock was used to taking different routes towards his classes now, emailing his professors for the attendance list before he ever stepped foot in a class. He had only crossed Jim’s path twice since he had first learned that Jim had enrolled, and Jim had not even seen him. He’d been so careful. So infuriating careful that sometimes he forgot there was something he needed to be careful about. Like tonight.

Jim was wearing his red cadet uniform, which filled out more in the shoulders now even compared to when he had seen him once accidentally a year ago. He must have been training. He had one arm slung around the shoulders of a pretty brunette, a beer in hand, and the other holding the microphone out of reach of a flustered DJ who he was trying to calm down. After a short side conversation the DJ settled, and Jim looked back out, smiling into the audience, illuminated by the red and gold of the set lighting.

He was stunning, of course. Spock’s hands went cold.

 

“It’ll just be a sec, I swear to all your deities and science. I’m valedictorian, you have to listen to me, shh.” He brought the microphone close as the crowd settled. Because of course they did. As always, James T. Kirk was in command of the room. He cleared his throat before he continued.

“Gathered in this promised land of cheap alcohol and tolerable music, tonight we celebrate not only the past years of cramming and falling asleep in eight am classes, but the future years to come. You have proven to me, you glorious bastards, that you are all some of the most intelligent people that have ever managed to come out of Starfleet’s ranks. Tomorrow morning, we’re heading off to prove it to the rest of the galaxy.” A series of whoops and cheers erupted from the crowd, silenced again when Jim lifted his drink up.

“The amount of talent contained in this one room is quite frankly ridiculous, and I am incredibly proud of each and everyone of you for making it to this point. Hell, I’m proud of myself for being able to stand amongst you, to be a part of the finest classes of starfleet graduates this academy has ever seen.”

“All except for you, mate!” A voice called from the audience, and Jim laughed, and the world fell into a singularity for Spock. 

That, of all things, was the same. Still high pitched and tinkling, as if the DJ has accidentally pressed play on a soundbite from twelve years ago.

It made Spock’s head hurt.

“Go to hell Scotty, you know I’m fine. I’m not gonna bore y’all with anymore sap, go on and drink and be merry and all that, and if I don’t see the entire crew leaving on the Enterprise with me tomorrow nursing hangovers I’m gonna know this night was wasted. Cheers!”

There was a resounding chorus of shouts and tinking glass as Jim took a swig, laughed, and exited the stage with the girl. The DJ immediately started playing music again, and a crowd of people Spock recognized but hadn’t bothered to learn the names of swarmed Jim, obscuring him from view.

“What did you want, kid?” The bartender glanced in his direction as he passed another drink to the man before him. It looked like windex.

“Whatever that is. Two shots, please.” Spock muttered, pushing his credits over the table.

“An Atomic coming up.”

 

Spock was sitting at a back table, nursing his second Atomic. The blue liquid sloshed a bit in its cup as he slammed it down a little too hard on the table, and he awkwardly tried to wipe it up with his sleeve, which he only realized was foolish halfway through the action. The condensation was sticky against his hypersensitive palms, and he couldn’t quite make out if the music was really that vulgar or if his emotional state had him subconsciously projecting. It was hot- too hot, and he took another sip of his drink while he scanned the room for exits. He should go back to his apartment, rest before take off tomorrow. The U.S.S. Laurent left first, at 0600, and if he remained here he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. His gaze settled on a doorway to his left, and he almost stood up, until his eyes fell on the man leaning against the doorframe.

Large, almost inhumanly proportioned eyes looked back at him under a mess of blue hair, flecked with white and black like a blue jay's feathers. 

Looked back at him.

He was slim, not a cadet, or at least not wearing a uniform, but it was not as if they had rented out the place. Instead he was wearing a black mesh top under a cropped jacket with leather pants. Faux leather, Spock corrected himself, but regardless of quality of fabric they were very very tight.

He lifted his glass towards Spock, nodding in acknowledgment, and Spock surprised himself by making the same gesture in return, despite the buzzing in his head. Perhaps, because of it.

The man tilted his head slightly, again reminding Spock of a bird as he glanced Spock up and down. And then, almost lazily, he pushed himself off the doorframe and started walking towards Spock.

Cursing, Spock turned back to his table and downed his drink. He was being ridiculously illogical. This man was a stranger, he had no reason to be interested in Spock, Spock had no reason to be interested in him except for physical attributes. He knew better, had always known better than to pursue fleeting moments and desires such as this. When he glanced back, the man was still making his way through the crowd, and Spock could make out the V of his hips outlined by black fabric.

Spock swallowed, despite not taking another drink.

He deserved this. To have never indulged himself in anything over just the memory of someone, someone who no longer even knew he existed, was illogical. He was just a boy Spock didn’t know, who drank beer and danced with pretty curving girls, his hands around their waists and lips in their ears, who despite all this laughed like twelve years was yesterday. 

It was illogical. He did not matter anymore.

None of it mattered anymore.

 

The Bluejay slid into the chair next to him with the kind of grace only a little alcohol can give you.

“What’s a pretty boy like yourself doing drinking all alone?” He purred his words, trying to hard, annoyingly still successful. No one had called Spock pretty before.

“Getting drunk,” Spock mumbled in an effort to come out bluntly, but sounded soft and round as his lips refused to cooperate with him. The man tilted his head back and laughed (the wrong laugh), his eyes glinting in the light. He was wearing some kind of metallic contacts.

“And he’s funny too,” the man drawled. “I like funny. You’re just full of interesting little things, aren’t you.” His hand made his way to Spock’s shoulder. Spock warred between being repulsed or flattered. He landed, in the end, on repulsed, but at that point it didn’t seem to matter.

“If you are lacking in intelligence, flirting is much more successful when you don’t talk,” Spock spat, but any heat in his tone was drowned out by the sweetness of alcohol and maraschino cherries, but he glared at the other man in challenge regardless.

He stood up. Trailed his hand down Spock’s shoulder to his wrist.

“Fair enough. We’ll skip the talking.”

And Spock rose, letting himself be led through the bar.

  
  


Making out with a strange man in the back warehouse of a bar amidst rows of shelving holding bad alcohol and smoke machine filler was not on Spock’s to do list for that night, but apparently his schedule was more flexible than he thought. 

The blue jay boy had his hands up Spock’s shirt, and it was warm and frightening and he was not sure if he was enjoying the experience of that but he decidedly did like the feeling of his tongue practically down his throat.

He could hear the beat of the rhythm of the music slowing down in the room next to them, but he wasn’t sure if it was the actual tempo or his mind decelerating the world around him. He didn’t realize when their positions had switched, but he was now pressing the boy into the metal stacks, his fingers intertwined in blue hair that had too much gel in it but still felt amazing on his skin.

The boy’s skin was tacky as Spock slid his hand down his neck, nails catching on the collar of his mesh shirt. The fabric was almost too much sensory experience to handle, the scratch of it feeling like the one thing that would push him over the edge as the sensations around him pressed in, too much and not enough all at once..

The world was drowning out, focused down to the heat of mouths and skin and the burning under his hands. The music was drifting into his sphere of consciousness from what seemed like another galaxy entirely, the lyrics garbled and only resonating in a corner of his overstimulated mind. 

_ Oh Hannah, tell me something nice _

_ Like flowers and blue skies _

_ Oh Hannah, I will follow you home _

_ All though my lips are blue and I'm cold _

 

The boy dragged his teeth against Spock’s bottom lip, and when Spock gasped the Blue jay reached up to intertwine their hands.

_ I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips _

_ I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath _

Spock made a small noise of protest, pushing the boy back a bit, accidentally knocking him into the steel of the stack.

“Dude, the fuck?” the boy muttered, slicking his hair out of his eyes. His lips were very red and bitten. His other hand was still up the back of Spock’s sweater which was far too hot and needed to come off.

“I-”

But before Spock could finish, the door to their left swung open.

 

“Mikaleigh, come on, we’re not honestly going to… oh shit wrong closet guys sorry didn-”

But the voice cut itself off. As Jim, the brunette from earlier with her arms slung around his neck and giggling, made eye contact with Spock, apparently pinning a boy to a shelf whose hand was sneaking toward his pants zipper.

_ I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna be your bitch, _

_ And I wanna touch you but not like this. _

 

For a moment, the stars, the planets, and the entire universe aligned in a singular moment that was designed to kill Spock. He felt his knees go weak. His hand grabbed for the shelf to balance himself, but there was some sort of sticky liquid, perhaps smoke fluid, that his grip failed on and he pitched forward, awkwardly colliding with the Blue Jay boy, thudding against his shoulder. Spock buried his head in the the boy’s shoulder, refusing to look up.

How naive. Like a child, who thought the world could not see him if he could not see it.

But the world kept moving, and he could hear the girl whispering to Kirk. He could feel Kirk  staring at Spock and the Blue Jay. The Blue Jay was laughing at Spock, and Spock…

Spock was praying for the first time in his life, to whatever god was in the domain of spontaneous combustion. Surely there was one out there. Perhaps one with enough pity to incinerate him on the Spot

 

“Jimmy, can’t you ask these guys to leave, you can take them, right?” 

The word Jimmy echoed around in his head like a curse.

From his obscured vision he could just see the girl hanging off Jim’s shoulder, obviously intoxicated. Spock wondered if he looked like that.

“Ay, finders keepers bitch,” the Blue Jay Boy snickered, “we got here first.” He had still not taken his hand out of Spock’s shirt. Spock was just. Staring at the ground. If he didn’t look up, maybe he could pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Mikaleigh, why don’t you uh... wait outside?” Jim’s voice sounded strained. Spock couldn’t help but glare at the treacherous tile floor, which was swaying. Of course he sounded strained. All that time spent pretending Spock didn’t exist, and to fuck it all up at the last moment. He must be  _ so damn frustrated _ . “I’ll come get you in a bit okay?”

Great, Spock thought. Now he’s going to beat me up.

He heard more than saw the girl leave, the click of her heels timed to the beat of the music. When the door swung shut behind her, Jim spoke again.

“Get out. Now.”

The Blue Jay bristled, his chest straightening under Spock, the fabric of his shirt too much under Spock’s palms.

“Bitch, like I told her, we got here first. Am I supposed to be scared of you, what, just cause you’re het and have walked into a gym before? You can’t just make us-”

“There is so much wrong with that sentence but I’m just gonna move on. Let me clarify. Just you. Spock… Spock stays.” The harshness fell out of Jim’s voice as he continued. “I mean you don’t have to stay… I get why you wouldn’t want to, I just mean…” He trailed off. “We need to talk.”

_ We need to talk, we need to talk, we need to talk… _

His mind echoed the words until they were louder than the music. What did they need to talk about? Spock did not want his pity, and was not in the mood for handing out forgiveness.

The Blue Jay shifted under Spock, and pulled him upright by the shoulders to face him.

“This your guy or something? Cuz this sounds like wicked baggage and I ain’t gonna get involved with you and some closeted dude. You want me to leave you two or do you want to get out of here with me?”

A part of Spock really,  _ really,  _ wanted to leave with the Blue Jay boy. But everyone in the room knew he wouldn’t.

“No. Thank you though, uh…” he fumbled over the end of his sentence, not remembering if the boy had ever told him his name.

“It’s…” But the boy glanced between Spock and Jim and shook his head, thinking better of it. “Honestly my name aint gonna matter after five minutes of whatever awkward tension you twunks got going on so I’m just gonna blast.”

And he untangled himself from Spock, and walked out, shutting the door to Spock’s grave behind him.

  
All was quiet in the warehouse, for what could have been the worst thirty seconds of his life.

 

“So you…” Jim coughed awkwardly, obviously trying to ease the tension as he chuckled. “So you like guys?”  

Spock glared up at him, ignoring the way his stomach lurched when their eyes met.

“So you like girls?” Spock deadpanned.

Jim opened and shut his mouth a few times, trying to find words, but Spock didn’t care. The alcohol was hot and burning in his veins and he felt like he had just been hit by a bus and god dammit, he was angry. He had been angry for years. 

“No. No you shut… shut your stupid human mouth you absolute coward. You do not… you do not get to talk to me! You do not to get to make your stupid jokes like the only time that has passed is a few Jupitarian weeks! It has been more than…” He fumbled with his mind and his mouth. “2.501x10 5  seconds since your last… wait that is not correct that is how long a Jupiterian week is. Regardless! You do not…” Spock took a step toward Jim, almost fell, caught himself, and continued. “You do not get to act like everything is satisfactory and acceptable you… you bastard.”

He, upon thinking about it, was much drunker than he originally thought. 

 

“Spock...” Jim looked torn between trying to reach out and catch him and turning to run. “Please just, I need you to listen to me-” Jim’s voice sounded desperate but Spock couldn’t have cared less. What did he know about being desperate? What did he know about needing anything?

“Listen to you! I am done listening to you!” Spock lurched forward again. He was making decent time. “I have done nothing but listen to you. You and the foolish echoes of you I have…” His fist were clenched and his blood was rushing and Jim was right there he was  _ right there. “ _ I’ve had to live with your voice in my head for the past 12.13 years and I am done listening to you! You do not get to speak to me  _ Ensign Kirk,  _ you  _ never _ get to speak to me again! You  _ fucking…  _ **_ponfo miran!”_ **

Spock raised a fist he hadn’t realized he had been making. He was so world spinningly angry and he had never felt this way before and he was drunk and furious and he  _ hated _ Jim for what he had done to him, he should have always hated him, maybe he  _ had  _ always hated him.  And he had every right to. He had every right, so he swung back, winding up... 

And Jim did nothing.

He just stood there, looking achingly resigned. Waiting for the punch to land. 

Waiting for Spock to finally turn his back and drop the game. 

And Spock couldn’t do it. He could never do it.

 

His fist slumped painlessly on Jim’s chest. Spock practically doubled over from the exhaustion of it anyways, his forehead coming to rest on Jim’s shoulder. Jim’s uniform clung to his wet face. He was so tired. His stomach hurt. 

Very slowly, and cautiously, two hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“Spock, budd- Spock come on I’m gonna take you home.”

Spock murmured something in Vulcan quietly.

Jim’s voice was soft, even though it cracked around the corners. It reminded him of the beach.

“Spock come on, my bike’s outside, I’ll drive you home okay, you’ll never have to see me again after tonight but you can’t stay here like this.”

His bike? Images of a younger Jim on a bicycle made his stomach lurch. He did not like how it felt.

**“I am not telling you where I live,”** Spock slurred in Vulcan, proud of his ability to stick to the language for the full sentence in his state. Jim chuckled without any joy.

**“You’re gonna have to,”** Jim replied in, to Spock’s absolute horror, impressively well pronounced Vulcan.

In what was only a logical response, Spock threw up on him.

It was only after he registered this, the horror of what he had done dawning on him, that he finally, blissfully, blacked out.

 

***

Spock woke up with the world coming to a stop from what must have been accelerated movement. An engined whined as it turned off, and the balance of the world shifted as the bike he was on swung to one side so the driver could put down the kickstand.

The driver pulled off his helmet, turning to look at him, and the world shifted for another reason.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Jim smiled at him softly, his lips towing a familiar curve that shouldn’t have belonged to him. He put his helmet to the side and pulled off one that had appeared on Spock’s head. “Thought you went into  **tow-kath** for a second there out of sheer embarrassment. Figured that that couldn’t have been the case, or like, y’all would be going into week long naps left and right after telling the cashier to enjoy the movie too.”

“Where… where are we…” Spock mumbled, his head pounding.

Jim shuffled awkwardly, and Spock couldn’t help but notice that his movements seemed quainter than he had expected. His voice carried a midwestern accent, but his mannerism were southern. He reached over to help Spock off the bike, and when Spock leaned on him his arms were very… sturdy. Spock did not notice arms much. But these were very… arm like.

“We’re uh… we’re at my apartment. I didn’t know where else to take you. Figured you could like… sleep in my bed and I’d sleep on the couch. If you’re okay with sleeping in my bed, that is.”

Spock was most certainly not, but he nodded anyways.

The apartment was somewhere in the city, a little two story squeezed between several others that reminded Spock of modernized dollhouses. Jim offered his hand to help him up the steps, but Spock leaned on the railing instead. Jim just took his hand back to reach for his keys instead, fumbling with the lock a bit before swinging the door open.

“I’m home! Annie Cannon?” Jim called, flipping the lights on.

Spock immediately started calculating exit routes as fast as his inhibited brain would let him, but no female was apparent in the newly lit apartment.

Instead, a small long-haired tabby pressed itself against his legs. Jim bent down to scratch her behind her ears. Spock stared at the small creature.

“Spock, Annie Cannon. Or Anakin. Or Jump. Whatever I’m feeling that day really.”

The cat mewled at him.

“You like dogs,” Spock stated dumbly.

Jim frowned at him.

“What?”

“You have always wanted a dog.”

Jim blinked at him, then laughed.

“Time can change your mind, I guess. I missed… I’ve preferred cats for a while.”

Spock wasn’t in his mind enough to figure out what that meant, but when Jim scooped up the cat and deposited it in Spock’s arms, Spock couldn’t help but feel his chest swell at the texture of the soft fur. He missed Diana.

Jim hung the outer jacket of his cadet uniform on a coat rack, and kicked off his shoes. He glanced at Spock, gracing him with another sad smile. It seemed too small for his face. He was born for more joy than that. 

“Alright, put down the kitten, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to sleep in that coat.”

Spock looked down. He was wearing some sort of padded leather jacket.

“I am wearing some sort of padded leather jacket,” he repeated out loud as soon as he comprehended it.

Jim snickered. “Yes. You are.”

“When did this occur?”

As Jim spoke, Spock put down the cat reluctantly and began struggling with the zippers and buckles of the coat. 

“Figured it was more likely you’d fall off the bike than me. Getting you into it was a pain in the ass, Bones has already sworn vengeance on you for life for making him hold you up while I tried to get you into.”

“I made him do no such thing,” Spock protested, already put out by whoever this Bones character was, but it was made less threatening by the fact he was unable to get the zipper undone. Admittedly, he wasn’t trying that hard. He wanted to keep wearing it. It was warm, and smelled like oak and old books and gasoline, like the perfect fire was burning inside of it.

Jim laughed, muttered something in a language Spock didn’t understand, and reached over to undo the buttons and shrug it off Spock’s shoulders. He hung it up next to the the red cadet’s jacket, which Spock noticed had a strange wet patch on the front.

What… oh. Yes.

That.

 

Thoroughly bashful, he followed Jim into the living room, which was mostly empty aside from a chair and a couch, along with some unfilled bookshelves. 

“Pike let me move most of my stuff into my quarters early. A friend is subleasing this place until I get back, taking care of Annie. What ship have you been assigned to?”

Spock padded through the empty apartment, the tile cold on his bare feet after taking off his shoes. It seemed too… sparse for Jim. He had always pictured when Jim got older he would live in some old ranch house filled with bad antique store finds. Jim had loved garage sales.

But he supposed, Jim might not love them now.

He had no idea what this Jim cared about.

“I have been assigned to the U.S.S. Laurent. Under Captain Amesh.”

Jim nodded, saying nothing. He kept walking. Spock didn’t know what he had expected. It was not as if Jim had ever stopped moving forward.

 

He opened the door to a bedroom, this room at least more like Jim in that the white bedspread had a 1950s modernist rocket pillow on it. There was also, next to the bed, a stack of books, a scented candle, and some reading glasses.

Jim wore reading glasses?

“The bathrooms that door right there, and if you want a change of clothes, you can-”

Spock walked over to the bed, sat down delicately, and with the complete force of a energyless body, fell sideways onto the pillow.

He stared at the reading glasses. They were gold, wire framed. He tried to picture them on this new Jim’s face. But it didn’t make sense because old Jim didn’t wear reading glasses. Or had he? Had Spock forgotten?

But then the new Jim laughed. His old laugh. And he wasn’t new Jim, or old Jim. For a moment, he was just… Jim.

His Jim.

His Jim, who would leave tomorrow to be galaxies apart for another ten years.

“I’ll just take some clothes and leave you to sleep then. I can make some coffee in the morning, or cocoa I guess, but I can be out of here early if you don’t want to see me-”

“Kirk.”

Jim froze. He looked lost, standing there in his white t shirt washed out against the all white room. Drifting in the colorlessness of it all. Like he no longer knew his place in the world.

But Spock knew. He had always known.

“ **Bed, Kirk.”**

Jim blinked. Looked back at the ground. Spock followed his gaze, still cognizant enough to be embarrassed slightly by his brash statement. Jim was wearing mismatching socks. One was pink. 

“Spock if you need space I can give it to you. You don’t have to push, I don’t… I don’t deserve that, and I know I don’t. Shit, Spock, I don’t deserve anything-”

But Spock interrupted him.

“Ensign Kirk. I have one night left on this forsaken planet with you before you leave again and the least you could do is stay for that.” Spock’s voice was measured, only tapering off at the last second. He was so tired. And he wanted so much. He knew that none of it was attainable, but he knew that that wouldn’t stop him from wanting one thing in this world more than anything.

He wanted Jim to stay.

“ **Sanu.”**

 

The last word was so quiet that Spock wasn’t sure if he was the one who said it, or if it was an echo passed down the years from nights he had spent alone without any answers. Although, he supposed, he still didn’t have any answers. He just had… hope. That terrible disquieting thing. 

Whether he had heard Spock’s last word or not, Jim slowly stepped forward. Carefully, gently, like handling a broken thing, he pulled back the other side of the covers and laid down next to Spock. He kept a foot of space between them.

Tomorrow, there would be light years.

 

Jim clicked the desk lamp off. Spock could see the outline of him, staring at the ceiling. His breathing heavy, like a weight was resting on his chest. Slow, unlike the quick breaths of a younger memory. He was quiet. But for once, for one second, the world that was always so loud around Spock was quiet with him.

Spock reached out. He put a hand on the pillow between them. The small breath of air that left Jim’s lips was more like a cry than a laugh.

“Spock… don’t. Don’t do this. I know you’ll hate me again in the morning. And you’ll hate yourself for giving into it.”

Spock barely recognized his voice when it came out. It sounded slurred, and weary, but sure. More than sure.

“Then perhaps I should enjoy this night while it lasts.”

 

There was a terrifying beat where nothing happened. But then, in the dark, a hand reached out. Laid itself across Spock’s, so that their wrists formed an x. A sign to the rest of the world, as it had always been, that two stood together against the world.

Everything inside of Spock hurt.

But for a beautiful moment, he was solid. He was full.

And so he slept, and dreamt of stars and seas. Let his mind pretend the morning wouldn’t matter. 

 

But the thing about tomorrow is that it always comes. And of course, with his luck, this particular tomorrow mattered more than most.

It may have mattered more than anything.

But for now there was sleep.

Sleep, and the smell of oak and things that burn.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Ponfo Miran: Idk its an untranslated swear word i think its like Vulcan Go to hell  
> Tow-kath: Healing trance  
> Sanu: Stay.
> 
> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> Talia by King Princess -- "But four drinks I'm wasted,   
> I can see you dancing,   
> I can lay down next to you at the foot of my bed.  
> If I drink enough  
> I can taste your lipstick, I can lay down next to you  
> But it's all in my head  
> If I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you"
> 
> I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend by Girl in Red was playing at the bar
> 
> Don't Swim by Keaton Henson (end scene) -- "Where have you been, my love?  
> I've been right here waiting for you to wake up  
> And how can you sleep knowing   
> That you'd be much better off there with him  
> And promising to never let me in  
> Don't swim."


	16. Nearly Curtains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy howdy guys this was a long one.
> 
> But here you go, the Real Life Enterprise.
> 
> Note! I attempt to use some languages and speech patterns in here that aren't my normal Americanized/Slightly British English so if I offend you at all, please let me know! For some things I have explanations, such as for Chekov, he doesn't use the words it or the very often in Standard, which may sound a bit choppy to native English speakers, but that's mostly because to my knowledge there aren't like, Russian varients of those words? So I've left those out. If you want to see more phonetically typed Russian and Scottish accents, or LESS phonetically typed Russian and Scottish accents, feel free to let me know. And yes friends, we will get more McCoy and Scotty up in here. I've characterized them as originally Jim's friends, so Spock's POV hasn't met them yet. But you know my favorite boys will be here.
> 
> As always if you have any headcannons you wish to share, feel free to do so either on here or on tumblr! I will almost certainly try to work them in. Now, it is time for sleep, and toasting incoming failed calculus tests.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your continued support.  
> Lots of Love,  
> Taliesin

Spock came to consciousness slowly, the light taking its time in dragging him out of a dreamless sleep. It took him a moment to realize that he was even awake, blinking blearily at the window.  
He didn’t bother turning to look to the other side of him. He could sense that the rest of the bed was empty. The world came into focus, first the white walls of the room, then the expanse of the bed before him, the slightly cracked window with sounds of birds and a soft breeze blowing through, the light…  
It was light out.  
He tore the covers off, scrambling to the side table. There was a mug of hot cocoa, long gone cold, a note that he tucked into his pocket without reading, and a clock. He squinted at the clock.  
10:23.   
The U.S.S. Laurent had been scheduled to leave at 0600.  
Spock let out a quiet, but deeply and utterly anguished, sigh.  
  
In the six minutes it took him to leave Jim’s  house, he knocked over the mug of cocoa, stepped on the cat’s tail twice, and had taken a blue Science Division sweater out of Jim’s closet that was too big on him and certainly did not belong to Jim himself (who then?), slipped it over his head anyway before rushing out the door to catch a cab to the shuttle station.  
Out of breath with his hair on one end and his pants wrinkled beyond recognition, he only remembered the note in his pocket halfway to the Starfleet base. He pulled it out, unfolding it, and read the cramped, boxy lettering on the paper. It said:

  
_Spock-_ _  
_ _Tried to wake you up, but you were completely out. Don’t know what time the Laurent leaves, but I got a message to come in early for takeoff preparations from Command. Is it possible to go into a healing trance over alcohol poisoning, or are you just hungover? There’s cocoa, didn’t have a lot of spices but found cinnamon. More plain than usual might be better for your stomach anyway. I’m not writing much of anything, am I? Nothing I should be saying._ _  
_ _I’ll see you around, Spock._ _  
_ _-J_ _  
_  
Spock crumpled up the note, already halfway through rolling down the cab window before he hurriedly uncrumpled it, folded it delicately, and put it back in his pocket.  
_I am exhibiting all characteristics of what Nyota would call “a complete mess,”_ he thought, even as he pressed a bit closer to the window to feel the wind on his face.  
  
When he ran into the landing bay at a full sprint, it was practically empty. The cadet shuttles had almost all taken off by now, with two or three not in use and one towards the back still being loaded. There was a man with a clipboard tutting by the leftmost shuttle, and Spock managed to slow his pace down to a purposeful speed walk as he approached him.  
“If I could have your pardon, sir, I am Ensign S'chn T'gai Spock, I was intended to report for duty to the U.S.S. Laurent at-”  
“Holy cow. Would you look at that!” Spock froze mid-step as the man turned to face him. “Ensign Spock, you’ve grown quite a bit since I last saw you.”

Spock spluttered. Christopher Pike, because with his current luck of course it was Christopher Pike, was older, more grizzled, and quite possibly the last person Spock wanted to see right now. His hair, longer now, was slicked back and unlike all memories Spock still recalled of the man, he no longer smelled of tobacco. But he was smiling at Spock. Lovingly.

It made Spock’s stomach hurt.

Still, he was an officer. And, if his temperament remained the same, quite possibly the most forgiving of them.  
“Commander Pike, I do apologize for my rush, but I am in need of immediate assistance.”  
Pike looked him up and down, seeming to finally take into account Spock’s disheveled state.   
“Uh… yeah. What is it you need? And it’s Captain now, actually.”  
Spock blinked at him, trying to wind his mind down enough to have a human conversation.  
“My congratulations, sir. Are you capable of contacting the U.S.S. Laurent?”  
Pike frowned, glancing down at his automated clipboard and pressing a few keys on it, pulling up what appeared to be a schedule.   
“The Laurent left the docking area in the first wave over four hours ago...Spock, were you supposed to be on it?”  
Spock managed to nod. To his credit, Pike made no comment, instead tapping dutifully on his board, pulling up information.  
“Amesh is in command of the Laurent if I’m remembering correctly. Maybe I could get in contact with him after whatever the commotion with that distress alert we just received is sorted, but it’s not like I’m gonna be able to beam you up to the Laurent right now, and Amesh is a stickler if there ever was one. They aren’t going to be pleased with you… hey. Hey! Spock, what branch did you say you were in?”  
Spock frowned at the growing delight Pike seemed to be having with his current situation.  
“I am in the Scientific Research Division Captain, but I do not see its relevance-”  
“What were your scores on the LPAT last year?”  
“I… I received an 864 on my practical examination and a 930 on the written portion. However, I do not understand your current line of inquiry-”  
“What about the Hattlinger Prime Simulation, you pass that?”  
Spock stared at Pike blankly, lost.  
“Captain, I designed the Hattlinger Prime Simulation for Starfleet.”  
Pike grinned. Spock felt his stomach sink even more than it already had.  
“Spock, my shuttle was supposed to leave 37 minutes ago, but my First Officer has taken it upon herself to just- uh, just not show up for her post as of 0800 this morning. In fact, I received what may be called a letter of resignation from her about an hour ago over email.”  
Spock couldn’t help puzzlement that was showing on his face.   
“Email, Captain?”  
Pike pulled up an ancient-looking application on his clipboard and showed Spock what appeared to be a pdf file that read only **“Fuck You Chris, I Do What I Want”** in 96-point font, with an attached picture of a woman in sunglasses flipping off the camera.  
“Is that… is that Commander One, sir?”  
Pike chuckled.  
“Yeah, it sure is. Don’t ever try and woo women who are objectively better than you Spock, it never turns out well.”  
“I do not believe that will be a problem in my case, sir.”  
Pike nodded.   
“Right on. So anyway, I’ve had to do some last minute reorganization of the command line on my ships, move some people around, hand out some well-deserved promotions etc. In fact, I’m only missing one piece before I can go ahead and give the go-ahead for take off.”  
“And that is, sir?”  
Pike smiled.   
“A head Science Officer, Spock.”  
Spock, very carefully, took a step backward from Pike, who had now confirmed himself as a madman.  
“Captain, with the utmost respect, I must protest. I am an Ensign, this is my first off-planet mission, to promote me to so high a position without any qualification or experience lacks any form of logic or foresight-”  
“Damn Spock, that was really your utmost on the respect scale?” Pike snickered, clapping a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Don’t freak out, nearly all my main bridge attendees for this mission are rookies. Hell, one of ‘em is like, seventeen and the Mozart of calculus or something. Although I suppose Mozart was Austrian, so he’s more like-”  
“Captain, please.”  
Pike coughed awkwardly.  
“Yeah sorry, uh, but seriously Spock. You’ll fit right in. Nothing to worry about.”  
Spock highly doubted that. Pike was the exact inverse of what he would choose to look for in a commanding officer. The only worse case would be, as he had dreamt once in a nightmare, Jim Kirk himself.

Actually, the more he considered that the more Pike didn’t seem so bad.

He took a breath, centered himself, and nodded.  
“It would be suitable for both of us for me to serve as your officer during the time it takes for you to either find a proper replacement or for me to return to my assigned post on the Laurent.  
Pike tapped the side of his forehead.   
“That’s that famous Vulcan logic for you. Go ahead and hop in the shuttle, I’ll be ready in two.”  
It felt more like Vulcan justification, but nevertheless, Spock complied and made his way into the cramped shuttle, where only one other person was strapped in. The boy, for he was a boy, he looked no older than a teen, glanced up at Spock, smiling with a little wave as Spock buckled in across from him.  
“Hello! Are you now serving under Captain Pike, too?”  
Spock nodded, the boy’s Standard saturated with a heavy Russian accent.  
“I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov! It is very exciting to be serving with you!”  
“S'chn T'gai Spock, although Spock is most applicable.”  
“You are Vulcan, are you not?” The boy pronounced his V’s as W’s, but his contagious smile was enough to bring a small upward curve to Spock’s lips despite it all.  
“You are correct. I look forward to serving with you as well, Ensign Chekov.”  
Pike came aboard the shuttle, knocking twice on the ceiling in some form of human superstition.  
“You two alright? Ready for take off?”  
Spock nodded and Chekov gave a thumbs up, piping out an “Aye, Captain!” as Pike slid into the pilot’s compartment and began flipping switches.   
Spock turned back to Chekov as the shuttle rumbled, bay doors opening as Pike taxied toward the exit.  
“So what position do you hold on board the…” Spock paused, frowning, even as they pulled off the ground. “I do apologize, I believe I never learned the name of our ship assignment.” Chekov smiled at him, and Spock noticed that his feet, which didn’t quite touch the shuttle floor, were kicking in excitement.  
“There is no problem! I will be serving as a navigator and tactical officer for Captain Pike under newest flagship, U.S.S. Enterprise!”  
The shuttle left the ground at around the same time Spock’s soul left his body.  
  
***  
  
Every time you enter space, it’s beautiful in its own way. Spock couldn’t help but stare out the window, despite heading towards what he could only picture as his instant death by embarrassment, as it was awe inspiring in its endlessness. The view was accompanied by an oohing and ahhing Chekov as the world faded away behind them.   
There was something overwhelming about it, the freedom of the entire universe opening up in front of you. Which way you went, in the end, didn’t matter. The ancient humans may have believed that all roads lead to Rome, but in Space, all roads lead… anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere you could imagine, and some places you couldn’t begin to fathom.  
Every time, no matter if it was the first explorers or the most veteran Command thousands of years later, the act of pulling off the ground, of breaking atmosphere, of losing the physical weight of anything that could have held you down, it released something. It broke a chain that you didn’t know was binding you. The final tether, that kept you from the unknown.

It was stunning, this final frontier.  
Chekov whispered something in Russian. Spock didn’t know what it meant, but he knew he agreed.

  
The Enterprise, in its off-planet docking structure, with its bright metal against the dark immensity of space, looked like a beacon.   
“You like her, Spock? She’s the newest model. NCC-1701,” Pike called back over the driver’s seat  
Spock's mouth was tacky. It took him a few moments to find words. ‘Like’ was not the right descriptor for how he felt upon seeing that ship.  
“She is magnificent, Captain. Indescribable.”  
Pike nodded and angled the shuttle towards the loading bay, blocking Spock and Chekov’s view. But there was still enchantment in his voice when he whispered a half-finished thought, almost to himself.  
“...like she’s made out of the stars herself.”  
     
Spock watched the empty sky outside the window, though in reality, it was filled with more stars than he could ever hope to fathom. He let that knowledge cover him like a blanket, closing his eyes and imagining, in a moment of weakness, that he could allow himself to find a home among them.  
But then, of course, he remembered where this shuttle was heading. And the world went back to feeling empty and vast again.

When the shuttle touched down, he took a shaky breath in.

“Mister Spock? Are you alright, sir?”  
Spock opened his eyes, blinking at Chekov.   
“Indeed I am, Ensign.”  
Chekov smiled, leaning a little closer, but not breaking what Spock considered his personal space.   
“My Pa says it is when we are leaving home for the first time that we realize what we will miss. I will miss my cats and my Pa, and when we pulled away I thought ‘oh no! I will miss them very much!’ but,” and here Chekov smiled, gesturing at the door of the shuttle. “There is a whole universe to be explored, no? We are the few who are able to see such things? It is natural to miss what you love, but we are… emissaries? We will bring new love, to new worlds. So much new things, and new experiences. Is it not exciting, Mister Spock, to be able to have an opportunity such as this? To move the world forward?”  
Spock stared at the boy next to him.  
“Pardon my bluntness, but that is quite rash a thing to say to a complete stranger Ensign Chekov.”  
Chekov just laughed, gesturing again towards the door.   
“Moving forward, is good, yes?”  
Spock looked between Chekov and the door.   
“I am afraid I have never been particularly adept in the action, Ensign Chekov.”  
“Do not think bigger picture then. Today, only three steps, and opening a door. You are capable of taking three steps, Mister Spock. Tomorrow, we can consider the universe.”  
Spock stared at Chekov. His eyes were dark. Not quite dark as Vulcans’, but foreign to the American standard he often pictured when he thought of humans. It was a silly thing to latch onto, but it made Spock feel slightly less alone.  
“Thank you, Ensign Chekov.”  
“Pavel.” The boy corrected, and he stood up after Spock so that they walked out the shuttle doors together.  
  
***  
_It is fine. This is acceptable_.   
As he followed Pike through the halls of the Enterprise, pausing every few seconds because Pike deemed it necessary to shake the hand of almost everyone he came across, Spock began trying to assure himself that this plan was not complete lunacy.  
_It is a large ship. There are four hundered and thirty two people on board. I am perfectly capable of avoiding him for the time it takes to get my assignment switched back to the Laurent._

Pike beckoned him along. He waved at a man in a red uniform with blonde hair and every part of Spock flinched, but it was just another crewman.  
_This is fine. I will be on the main bridge. In 87.3% of cases, one must at least receive the classification of Lieutenant before being assigned to such an area._ _  
_ He sighed as he remembered that he himself was an exception to this rule.  
_87.14% of cases._  
They rounded another curve, of what seemed endless hallways, Chekov tittering about something that Spock occasionally nodded to. There were two large sliding doors in front of them.  
_This is fine. This is acceptable._ _  
_  
Pike marched up to the doors, activating them and walking inside, Chekov hurriedly following in his footsteps. Spock, however, remained locked in place a foot away from the door.  
_This is decidedly not fine, this is unacceptable, I have to get off this ship, what am I doing-_  
“Spock?”  
Spock blinked. That wasn’t Jim’s voice.  
His eyes refocused. Pavel had sat down at the helm, next to none other than Hikaru, who looked just as surprised as Spock but distinctly happier.   
“You’ve been reassigned to the Enterprise?”  
Spock glanced around the room. Pike was making his rounds, currently talking to Nyota, who seemed to have the main seat at the communications desk. People were purposefully working, discussing and reporting mechanical levels and statuses in preparation for take off.  
There was no Jim in sight.  
He turned back to Hikaru, genuinely glad to see his friend despite the circumstances.  
“For a short time, it appears that will be the case. There was a slight issue with my assignment to the U.S.S. Laurent and-”  
But before he could finish, the doors slid open with a hiss behind him. He turned, almost in slow motion, the slight smile that had managed to make its way onto his face disappearing before he even finished turning around. Because he knew, in his heart, it was Jim. Jim, who was frozen in the doorway, his eyes comically wide, wearing a yellow sweater adorned with a single gold band.  
_My first officer has taken upon herself to not show up,_ Pike had said. _I’ve had to do some last minute reorganization of the command line,_ he had said. _Hand out some well-deserved promotions._ _  
_      
Not only was James Kirk onboard the Enterprise, and would be in Spock’s direct line of sight for however long Spock stayed in this position...  
Spock directly reported to him.  
  
He could hear, vaguely in the background, the sound of Hikaru choking on air and pretending he was coming down with a Terran cold at the last minute, Pavel patting his back. Jim did not sway his attention from Spock however. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, something that would almost certainly jeopardize Spock’s standing on the Enterprise. And Spock would not allow for that to happen.  
“Lieutenant Commander Kirk, my congratulations on your speedy promotion. I look forward to working with you.” Spock interjected quickly before Jim had the chance to get a word out, flashing a quick Vulcan salute and walking sharply to the empty chair across the room for the head Science Officer next to Uhura.  
He hurriedly busied himself running diagnostics for whatever was on the screen. Apparently, the atmospheric makeup of Earth was breathable. How fascinating.  
Jim awkwardly seated himself in his own position, across the room in the right hemisphere of the bridge, not even pretending to look at his computer, instead staring darts at the back of Spock’s head.

 _I am not a criminal, or a heathen, or even a morally ambiguous person. I have done nothing to deserve such a karmic imbalance such as this,_ Spock grumbled to himself, reaffirming on his computer that the planet Earth had drinkable water.  
Pike wrapped up his discussion with Uhura, turning to face the entire bridge.  
“Kirk, how goes it below?”  
Jim snapped back into reality, immediately assuming the persona of the perfect crewman. Spock rolled his eyes at the monitor.  
“Engineering is ready to go, sir, Scotty gave the all clear.”  
“Fantastic.” Pike rounded the base of the Captain’s chair, addressing the room as he did so. His tone and stature seemed immediately serious. Spock had not previously been able to reconcile the Chris he knew with the idea of a captain, but the shift in the atmosphere in the room was as complete as it was instantaneous. “Starfleet has received a distress call from Vulcan only moments ago, with most of our secondary fleet already responsive. With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian System, I’m afraid the maiden voyage of our newest flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today. Her christening will just have to be our reward for a safe return. Carry on.”  
Spock blinked. He turned in his chair to Uhura, who must have been the one to receive the message.   
He raised an eyebrow, the question evident on his face. Vulcan?  
Nyota just shook her head. “I don’t know,” she mouthed, but her face carried it’s worry deep.  
Spock began checking reports from satellites in Vulcan airspace.  
“How long until take off Lieutenant Sulu?” Pike’s voice sounded different when he was acting as captain. More assured.  
“The ship’s cleared spacedock Captain, ready for warp.”  
“Set a course for Vulcan.”  
“Course laid in, sir.”  
A small blip appeared on Spock’s monitor. There appeared to be some sort of ring of debris forming around a central point above Vulcan’s atmosphere. Had there been a ship collision? It was too large for that, but for some reason, the satellites in the area were only reporting data from four minutes and 7.6 seconds ago. Had they been damaged?  
Pike leaned forward in his chair.   
“Maximum warp. Punch it.”  
  
The crew went about their business in the few seconds it took to warp. Pike printed off a message from Uhura and handed it to Pavel, who after struggling slightly with the access code to reach the entire ship from the comms, read out the statement.  
“May I have your attention, please. At 1220 hours, telemetry detected an anomaly in the neutral zone. What appeared to be an unexplained lightning storm in space. Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from the Vulcan High Council that their planet was experiencing seismic activity. Our mission is to assess-”  
  
Spock turned away from his monitor and said, “Captain, there has been an attack,” at the same time Jim leapt from his seat and announced, “We need to stop the ship, we’re flying into a trap.”  
  
The general commotion of the room died down as all heads turned to point at one of the two and then swivelled back to Captain Pike.  
Pike pinched the bridge of his nose, restraint painting his face as he vividly flashed back to two young boys who always managed to find their way into troubled. He sighed, composing himself, and pointed at Kirk.  
“You first, how the hell do you know that?”  
“Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster, sir, it is being attacked by Romulans.”  
Pike raised an eyebrow.  
“Romulans? That’s not something you can just say, Jim. There has to be evidence to back a claim like that up-”  
“Captain, if I may interject,” Spock blurted before he could convince himself not to. “All satellites in Vulcan airspace were systematically destroyed within seconds of each other, beginning approximately four minutes and 58.2 seconds ago. The only other way that a distress signal would still be able to come through would be if the Vulcan High Council sent it from their personal wavelength whose origin is located in the Katric Ark. If Lieutenant Uhura could provide the coordinates from which we received, I could confirm that-”  
“Ensign Spock is correct Captain, the coordinates match up with that of the Katric Ark’s location in the Shival Flats,” Uhura added, looking up from the keyboard she had been furiously typing at before Spock had even finished his sentence and nodding in encouragement for him to continue.  
“Given this situation, it is a probable explanation for why we have been unable to reach the Vulcan High Council, as the Ark is designed specifically to be a foreign signal proof safe haven.”  
Pike swore, turning in his chair to face Jim.  
“Yes, they’re under attack, but how the hell do you know it’s by Romulans?”  
   All eyes turned to Kirk, who looked at the ground, trying to find words.  
Spock coughed.  
“Captain if you may allow me to be blunt, you wrote your dissertation on the events in 2230 that occurred on the USS Kelvin. You are intimately familiar with the appearance of this specific brand of Romulan attack, of which there has only been one other documented occurrence. In fact, I would only consider one man’s depth of knowledge on the subject over your own. And that… that would be that of Officer Kirk.” Kirk looked up at him, and Spock saw that it was not just fear in his eyes, but anger. Unadulterated anger.

He would not let it happen again.

“I am not asking that you turn this ship around. In fact, I would advise against such action. But we should be prepared for all possible outcomes.”  
The room was quiet for a moment. All eyes on Pike.  
“All the other ships have arrived at Vulcan sir, but we have received no contact. My efforts to reach them have not been received,” came another Ensign’s voice, barely a whisper.  
Pike turned to Uhura, who shook her head.  
“Sir, I pick up no Romulan transmission or transmission of any kind in the area. There will be no way to know for sure.”  
Pike sighed, and then sat back down in his chair, facing forward.  
“...Shields up. Red Alert.”  
An Ensign spoke up again.

“Arriving in Vulcan airspace in 5… 4… 3…”  
Spock’s eyes met Kirk’s seconds before they reached Vulcan.  
  
They lurched out of warp and immediately into a field of carnage, Starfleet ship debris now clouding the atmosphere like an asteroid field. Alarms instantly started blaring as the Enterprise thudded into metal hunks still wandering from their previous velocity, and Pike did not hesitate before beginning to shout orders.   
“Full reverse, come about starboard 90 degrees, drop us down now, Lieutenant Sulu!”  
Spock had not even seen the encroaching ship’s hull primed to intercept the Enterprise, he had been so absorbed in the horror of it all. It took Sulu a fraction of a second to react, and even as he executed the direction with immaculate precision it didn’t stop the bottom of the dismembered hull scraping what must have been the upper sensor dome directly above the main bridge. The sound of the metal peeling away above him had the same physical resonance as his own skin peeling away from his body.  
More alarms began flashing, and shouting filled the main bridge until Sulu pulled them under the obscuring wreckage, and they saw the Romulan ship.  
“в гробу́ вида́л,” Pavel muttered.  
The ship was unlike any Spock had ever seen. It reminded him of the dark creatures rumored to live in the caves of the Vulcan deserts, so unfathomable and ancient that to disturb the slumber of one would mean the end of all ages. The ship did not look ancient, in fact, other than the strangely macabre Romulan aesthetic it seemed incredibly advanced. It did, however, look like a sort of unfathomable deity, an arrow-headed and tentacled beast made of sharp metal and edges, easily dwarfing the Enterprise twenty times over.  
For a moment, no one spoke. And then Kirk, his voice shockingly measured and calm against the beat of the alarm system said,  
“Captain, they’re locking down torpedoes.”  
That pulled everyone out of their haze.  
“Divert auxiliary power from port nacelles to forward shields!” Pike called, and the room scrambled again to prepare for whatever would come next.  
The Enterprise turned to position itself in firing range, and as it did the Romulan torpedoes launched, connecting with the side of the ship, rocking everyone in the bridge and sending a fresh wave of maintenance alerts to Spock’s monitor.  
“Sulu, status report!”  
Hikaru was tapping more controls than Spock had been aware ships were programmed to operate with.  
“Shields at 32%, their weapons are powerful sir, we can’t take another hit like that.”  
Spock exited out of another wave of red warnings on his screen, trying to make sense of the radio readings.  
“Captain, the Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high energy pulse device into the Vulcan atmosphere. Its signal appears to be blocking our communications and transporter abilities...” Spock trailed off. No transporters. Therefore no easy evacuation.  
Pike swore, obviously coming to the same conclusion.  
“All power to forward shields, prepare to fire all weapons. We need to make this quick.”  
Uhura jumped to her feet, “Captain we’re being hailed, I can’t-”  
With a flicker, the forward screen shifted from a view of the outside world to a Romulan face. He had rigid and pronounced features, dark eyes that seemed to be staring directly at Spock even though that was surely in his head, and a border of dark intricately designed tattoos framing his cheeks and forehead.  
Spock frowned. Most upper class and military Romulans did not have facial tattoos. Such things were more acceptably reserved for the working class, such as factory workers, or miners. Why would such a man be in charge of a ship as powerful as this?  
“Hello,” the Romulan spoke, his voice tinged with obvious disdain. He saw himself as above them. You could hear it in his tone.   
Pike was having none of it.  
“This is Captain Christopher Pike of the U.S.S Enterprise, to whom am I speaking?”  
“Hi Christopher, I’m Nero,” he spoke like a schoolyard bully, tone inappropriate for one holding the power to create such wreckage and destruction. Spock glanced at Jim. He was standing perfectly straight at attention, but upon further inspection, he was clutching his seat back white-knuckled and shaking.  
Pike continued, forcing professionalism.  
“Through your actions here today you have declared war against the Federation. Withdraw now, and I’ll agree to arrange to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location.”  
Nero chuckled, and it was jagged and grating like the rest of him.  
“I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart. As does your Vulcan crew member, isn’t that right, Spock?”  
Three beats of silence. The room’s attention pivoted to lock on him. As if going into autopilot, Spock stood up and walked forward.  
“Pardon me, I do not believe you and I are acquainted.” He could feel Jim’s eyes on him, making the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Even Uhura and Hikaru were staring, although their looks were less accusatory and more perplexed. _Why,_ they seemed to ask. _Why? Why?_ _  
_ Spock wanted to know why himself. The need to know more was all that kept him standing.  
“No, we’re not. Not yet.” Nero said it as if he had already read the last half a story Spock was just starting. Which… made no logical sense. He was missing something. He was missing everything. “Spock, there’s something I would like you to see. I thought you’d like to see the face of the man who did it. After all, I had the privilege of knowing yours. Captain Pike, your transporter has been disabled, and as you can see by the rest of your armada, you have nothing to gain here. I will give you five minutes to repair your ship and exit Vulcan airspace. If you fail to do so, you will be obliterated as well. That is all.”  
And with that the camera flickered off, leaving them to stare at the wreckage filled sky and the monstrously large ship before them.  
Jim turned to Spock. Spock turned to Captain Pike. Pike turned to the room.  
“You heard the man. We have five minutes. Without transporters, we can’t beam off the ship, we can’t assist Vulcan, we can’t do our jobs. So that’s the first thing that needs to change.” Pike rose, already making his way toward the back of the room as he spoke. “I’ll need a team experienced in hand to hand combat to space jump from the shuttle, land on that machine that they’ve lowered in the atmosphere that’s scrambling our gear, get inside, and disable it. Then you’ll beam back to the ship. Volunteers.” Jim’s hand shot up. Pike nodded at him and scanned the room.  
“Gonna need more than one folks, let's make this snappy.”  
“Spock is trained in hand to hand combat, sir,” all heads whipped around to Sulu, including Spock, who was staring rather incredulously.  
“I do not know what you mean by-” Spock began, but Sulu caught his gaze with a slight eyebrow raise that was universal for _shut up and let me help you_. Spock did not know how he was being helped, but he had been in this situation enough times to know that Hikaru was almost always right. So Spock coughed. “He is correct I do have some training.”  
Pike shrugged, gesturing for Spock to follow him to the doors as well.  
“I ain’t going to be picky. As soon as you two disable the machine causing the energy beam, I’ll beam down to Vulcan, and escort the high council to a place where they can be beamed back up to the safety of the ship. Lieutenant Uhura, once we have transport and communications back up you’ll contact Starfleet and tell them what the hell is going on here. If all else fails, fall back, and rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. While I am on Vulcan, and First Officer Kirk and Ensign Spock are executing the plan with the drill, I am placing Lieutenant Sulu as acting Command of the enterprise.” Here he paused, making eye contact with an extremely nervous looking Hikaru. Be careful with the ship, Sulu, she’s brand new.”  
Sulu nodded.  
“Yes, Captain.”  
“Chekov, you have the comm.”  
“Aye, Captain!”  
“Kirk, Spock, I’ll point you in the direction of the jump suits and then find a shuttle pilot to debrief with the situation. Folks, we have about four minutes and thirty-six seconds before the integrity of this plan gets a little shaky. I suggest you act quickly. Move out.”

The entire Enterprise was a blur as Jim and Spock ducked and weaved their way through scrambling engineers and shouting medical officers, in fact, it was so busy that Spock was halfway through putting on his jumpsuit over his uniform in the discharge airlock when he realized Sulu was running down the hall after him.  
“Spock! Spock!”  
Jim raised an eyebrow from where he was changing next to him but didn’t comment when Spock ducked out to meet Sulu.  
“Hikaru, please explain your rationale for volunteering me for such an endeavor I do not know what you could possibly intend-”  
Hikaru, heaving for breath, shoved something cylindrical and metal into Spock’s hand, about the size of an umbrella handle.  
“Thought… if something happened to Vulcan… you’d want to know you tried your best to save it…” he took a deep breath, then straightened up to attention, giving Spock a salute.  
“Point it away from you when you open it,” he said, before turning on his heel and running back the other way.  
Spock saluted him back, rather stunned, as he disappeared into the crowd, then stepped back into the airlock, fastening the cylinder to his hip.  
  
Jim didn’t talk much until they had fastened themselves into the shuttle seats, idly stretching as Spock fiddled with the strange device Sulu had given him. There was what appeared to be a hatch covering a slit on one end, with an indented trigger on the side. Spock pointed this away from him.  
“So uh, what hand to hand combat training do you have?” Jim asked as he settled into his chair. At the same time, Spock pressed the trigger, causing Jim to jump as a blade telescoped out section by section, snapping into place about two feet in length.  
“Apparently,” Spock murmured, tilting the sword back and forth, “fencing.”  
Jim laughed, warm and rolling, even as the shuttle rattled to take off. He seemed calmer now that he was actually able to do something about the problem at hand. It was very Jim, Spock thought, to believe full heartedly that they would be capable of saving everyone. Spock was not so sure.  
“God, your friends are great.”   
Spock glanced at him, catching a glimpse of his face up close before he activated his helmet and it snapped into place over his head. Sulu would not have given this if he did not believe Spock could be in great danger. And that meant they both were.  
The heavy synthetic fabric felt tight against his chest.   
“Pre-jump!”

A voice rang over the intercom, a peculiarly accented Standard that Spock was not familiar with. An airlock slid over the already closed partition that separated them from the driver, and the room was pitch black for a moment until red low visibility lights blinked on. Spock pressed a button on his suit, prompting his helmet to expand and encompass his head. The sound of his breathing was suddenly magnified.   
“We are approaching the drop zone! Don’t think I need to tell you that you’ve got only one shot to land on that platform. Expect defenses, so pull your shoot as late as possible!” Spock couldn’t quite make out if the man on the other end of the comm was saying ‘you’ or ‘ye’.  
“And how late is that Scotty?” Jim said, cracking a smile as he leaned back against his seat, gesturing for Spock to do the same.  
“For you bonnie? Never. And we ain’t gonna be able to beam ye ken up till you take out that drill, so uh, get tae. Good luck to you!”  
The seats snapped backward, the suddenly perpendicular as they approached drop position.  
“Alright lads, 3… 2… 1…”  
  
The floor dropped, and the world went silent. Spock could never describe to one who hadn’t experienced it the complete terror of a space jump. There was something specific, the sense of drowning while still being able to breathe, and how the drop in your stomach became so completely pervasive that it no longer bothered you but more became a part of you. All he could hear was the pounding of his blood, his own heavy breathing, and Jim’s breath echoing over the comms. A space jump went against everything the humanoid body was evolutionarily designed to do. The universe would let you do it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make damn well sure you knew you were doing something wrong.  
The drill, coming ever closer, looked like scrap metal pieced together with no regard for personal safety. Every inch of it seemed designed to kill you, and although he supposed that may have been the Romulan aesthetic, 9 miles of it was rather intimidating. It was emitting a laser so powerful he could hear the sound shock waves rattling his bones, consecutive rings of smoke like a target from above, centered perfectly around what appeared to be a hole in the middle of the Vulcan desert.  
The readout inside his screen flashed. Twenty thousand meters. The world shook, rattling with each pulse of the drill, his own sense of inner stability nonexistent. Air, not wind, whipped past him until all was erased from his mind except the sheer all-encompassing desperation that his chute would successfully open up.  
5,800 meters to target  
5,000 meters to target  
4,600  
3,000  
2,000  
“Pulling chute!” Jim called, seconds after Spock slammed his hand against the lock mechanism on his chest, the blue chute spilling out behind him, catching air, temporarily relieving the complete fear that had momentarily overwhelmed him.  
“Spock, you okay?” Jim’s voice was hyper magnified, his breathing heavy and loud even as he shouted over the comm.  
“Affirmative, officer.” Spock bit back, trying to focus as much as possible on keeping his inhalations steady.  
Jim landed first, sliding against the difficult metal terrain, his chute catching in the air current that emanated away from the energy beam. Spock watched in horror as he lost traction, desperately trying to grab onto the surface of the drill, and slammed a hand to his chest, retracting his chute. For a moment he just laid there, his breathing heavy over the comm, and then he pushed himself up onto his forearms, retracting his exterior helmet and mask.  
“Kirk landed.”  
Spock tugged on the cord of his chute, still in the air after catching a heat current that emanated off the energy beam, and tried to direct himself towards an easier landing. Seconds before he would be able to touch down, however, he saw a hatch open behind Jim, an armed Romulan pulling himself up and out of the drill and making his way towards Jim, who was blissfully unaware.  
“Officer, behind you!”  
Jim swung his head around, and with no hesitation, threw himself towards the Romulan mid-yell, angling his rifle phaser towards the ground and trying to wrestle it from his hands. The Romulan jerked the weapon upwards, firing six rounds, and Spock felt his trajectory buck to one side as one, three, five bolts ripped through the fabric of his chute, sending him veering left. He pulled uselessly at his directional handles, watching in horror as more Romulans exited the hatch, Jim disappearing from sight as he wrapped around the other side of the drill, losing height. He could not help the panic that tore through him as he watched the platform pass him, only to seconds later have his decent jerk to a halt as the fabric of his chute caught on the framework of the drill.  
_Think, Spock, think, it is the one thing you are good at._  
Jim called something out, but the sound of the sheer force emanating off the drill overcame the coms as he dangled less than ten feet away from the energy beam that would surely incinerate him in seconds as he swung closer and closer, his momentum exaggerating with each backward motion from the leverage point where his chute was stuck.   
_Think think think think._  
He slammed a fist against his chest with a grunt, body jerking upwards as the parachute cords retracted, now, with the chute stuck, pulling him upwards instead, towards the drill. He was practically launched back onto the platform, landing with a thud against the rough metal, slamming the back of his head, accidentally triggering the automatic retraction of his helmet. Behind him, he could see what appeared to be some sort of flame exhaust billowing upwards from a vent, his current trajectory taking him straight for it.  
_Honestly, that seems a bit unnecessary_ , he thought as he dragged his hands along the surface of the drill, catching on a divot which gave him enough time to reach to his hip and retrieve Hikaru’s sword, pressing its extension button and slashing the cords above his head, dropping his body to the ground heavily as his momentum was released.  
“Spock, Christ are you-” But Jim was cut off with a painful grunt, causing Spock to immediately push himself to his feet and spin around, only to see Jim engaged with two weaponless Romulans. A third was pulling out a curved blade and rounding on Spock.   
Spock balanced himself, pulling Hikaru’s blade into what he thought he hoped was a satisfactorily intimidating position.  
“I warn you, I have no idea how to use this.”  
He heard Jim breathlessly chuckle over the comm seconds before the Romulan charged with a roar. In the time it took him to reach Spock, Spock had the freedom to sigh, detract Hikaru’s sword, and pivot to the side, snaking an ankle around the charging Romulan, and sending him pitching forward enough for Spock to fully circle around him, grabbing him by the shoulder before he fell in order to perform a Vulcan nerve pinch. The Romulan yelled in agony, bucking backward into Spock, swinging wildly with his sword. Spock planted a knee into the man’s spine, and when he stumbled forwards, reared back and kicked him, sending him toppling with a yell into the flame exhaust.  
Well. Perhaps that is what it was for.   
Spock quickly searched the scene for Jim, the wind leaving him as he saw another Romulan (the other apparently already dispatched) peering over the edge of the platform, Jim dangling below him, fingers obviously slipping.   
With speed he did not previously know he was capable of, Spock charged him, flicking Hikaru’s blade open with a twist of his wrist, and, shouting at a volume previously unknown to the Vulcan range, pierced it through the Romulan’s chest with a sickening slick. It sounded even worse as he pulled it out, the Romulan lifelessly falling forward over the edge of the platform and disappearing below.  
Spock dropped to his knees, leaning over the edge with little regard for his own safety and grabbing Jim by the arm, the two of them grunting with combined effort as Spock used his own weight to haul them back onto the platform. They landed on their backs, heaving, and although Jim’s temple was bloodied he seemed to be relatively unharmed.  
Jim glanced over at Spock, his face scrunched in a breathless and dimpled smile despite it all.  
“That was some damn good fencing.”  
Spock allowed himself a half second to close his eyes and regain his composure.  
“It appears I was more proficient than I originally thought.”  
Jim no longer had the energy to laugh, but an exhale wheezed out of him as he pushed himself back onto his knees.  
“Next time I expect some more flips. The charges, if you still have them.”  
Spock straightened up, pulling the charges out of a side pouch and quickly circling the base of the bridge, attaching them to each side and priming them.  
When he finished, he backed as far away from the base as he could.  
“I would recommend stepping back, Officer Kirk.”  
Jim frowned, but nevertheless stepped back, turning slightly and putting up an arm to protect his eyes.  
“Detonating charges in three… two… one…”  
A blast shook the platform, and for a terrifying moment Spock thought it would give out underneath them, but it held fast, and with a whine and a splutter the energy beam below them gave out.  
Kirk let out a whoop, pressing the extended comm frequency on the side of his wrist.  
“Kirk to Enterprise! Beam us out of here!”  
Staticy, but still present, a voice came across the comm line.  
“Locking onto your signal, don’t move-”  
Almost as if beckoned, as if fate itself was rebuking the engineer on the other line for having the audacity to assume it was as simple as that, there was a great surge upwards as the drill began to retract shakily back into the Romulan ship. In fact, it was almost funny.  
Or it would have been. Had not the shaking of the drill caused Spock to take a step backward, backward, coincidentally, being where there was no more platform.  
There was a single moment of processing this, where he had time to think about all the choices he had made up to this point, and how in general he was just a complete fool.  
And then he fell.  
The last thing he saw before disappearing over the edge was Jim whipping around, reaching out futility, his face contorted in a scream.  
“Spock!”  
  
  
As he plummeted, air whipping past him, his body shifted, turning so that he was facing Vulcan as it grew larger and larger below him.  
At that moment he did not think of Romulans. He did not think of Starfleet, or danger, or even Jim. All he thought was that the desert was quite beautiful below him.  
There is a difference between accepting death and knowing it is coming. At that moment, Spock was fully aware that it was coming and coming in the form of Vulcan’s rocky surface or whiplash from his descent. He knew that he had seconds. But despite all of that, he did not accept that he was in the process of dying. It seemed illogical, that it should end now, leaving so much unfinished.  
Apparently, Jim agreed.  
The sudden impact of a hard body travelling even faster than his own sent Spock corkscrewing, even as Jim, still shouting, wound his arms around Spock and pulled him tight to his chest. His helmet was off and his face was soaked with sweat as he pressed their bodies together, yelling in Spock’s ear.  
“It’s okay, it’s okay I got you!”  
Spock, in shock, began trying to push away from him, even as they plummeted toward the ground. Terror clawed at his throat. Jim had jumped. Jim had jumped after him.   
They were both going to die.  
Jim only grabbed him tighter, growling in his ear.  
“Spock, for once stop being a dumbass and pull my fucking chute!”  
Oh. Yes. That.  
Spock fumbled, the weight seemingly having gone out of his limbs, but managed to press the release button on Jim’s chute, only to watch as it billowed out for but a moment before snapping off it’s locking mechanism and being lost to the wind.  
Spock stared in horror. He was about to be responsible for the death of James T. Kirk. The universe would never forgive him.  
Jim was swearing violently and managed to press his comm button.  
“Kirk to Enterprise! We’re falling without a chute! Beam us up!”  
They were going to die here. He couldn’t see Vulcan anymore, could barely see Jim, only the sky above with the Romulan ship and the wreckage on the endless horizon. And it was getting smaller with every passing second.  
“Kirk.”  
Jim unwound one hand and forced Spock’s arms out to give them more surface area. He was still yelling over the comms.  
“Beam us up goddammit!”  
“I’m trying! You’re moving too fast!”  
He wasn’t listening.  
“Kirk.”

Jim squirmed, only to tuck Spock’s head more tightly into his shoulder.  
“No, Spock, you do not get to death speech me right now shut the fuck up and would someone beam us the fuck up, now!”  
There was an echo over Jim’s comm unit. A distinctly Russian echo, talking very very quickly. It made Spock smile.  
“Jim, please you need to-”  
“NOW ENTERPRISE!”  
  
The desert floor was close now. Spock closed his eyes, burying his head in Jim’s neck. Jim whispered something, but he couldn’t hear it over the wind. He pretended he heard it. He pretended it mattered.  
And they hit the ground.  
  
They hit the ground. Spock had expected the ground to hurt quite a bit more. Also, to kill him. He opened his eyes, and to his surprise saw the transporter bay of the Enterprise around him. Pavel was exclaiming in Russian at the transport board, jumping up and down, tears in his eyes. Spock looked below him, where Jim, who looked like shit, was beaming up at him.   
“You called me Jim,” he mumbled, obviously concussed.  
Spock glared at the floor next to Jim’s head.  
“I was under duress. It will not happen again.”  
Jim laughed, or at least began the act of laughing, before doubling over in pain and coughing. Spock quickly untangled himself, trying to see if there were any signs of piercing or external damage to Jim’s suit, but before he could check him over, red light filled the room, an alarm blaring. This time, it was low and monotonous.  
Jim’s face fell.  
“Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”  
They pushed themselves up, running towards the main bridge without hesitation.  
  
They made it as far as the observation deck, Jim racing ahead of him, pushing people out of the way before Spock saw it. He froze in his tracks, staring out the large window. The beam may have stopped. But Vulcan was… convulsing. Dust clouds were rising over the surface. For a moment he thought it was getting smaller as well, but then he realized it was that the Enterprise was pulling away.  
“Spock, come on we have to get to the bridge-”  
But Jim fell silent. The entire crowd on the observation deck did. As, from the hole that had been made from the drill, the dust began to draw inwards. Like an unimaginable storm, Spock watched as slowly, painfully, Vulcan pulled in on itself, flashes of light emitting from inside it as more and more of the planet converged on that singular point. It spiraled, losing all sense of solidness as it simply… drained away. The hole spread, fragments of the planet being broken off and swallowed, folding in on itself in a tighter and brighter spiral, until finally, it simply… blinked.   
And was gone.  
  
The observation deck was silent. Everything was silent. Spock stared into the empty space where his planet had been only seconds before.  
From what seemed like miles away, someone screamed.  
It took Spock a moment to realize that it was him.  
  
Things were moving around him. He couldn’t tell if the room was loud, or silent, or a terrifying conjunction of the two. Someone touched him. He tried to pull away, but another person did, and another. They were holding him, but he didn’t know why they were holding him, because all he could see was the empty star-filled space in front of him. The empty space. It was empty.  
It was still quiet, but at the same time, it seemed like more people than just him were yelling now. Voices echoed, like from another world, garbled and warped, as he tried to pull away from all these people who kept on touching him.  
For what could have been seconds, or eons, it went on like that, his body, disconnected from his mind and thrashing wildly, his eyes, locked on a planet that was no longer there.  
Then something pricked his neck, and the world faded to black.  
  
  
     


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> в гробу́ вида́л is literally "I have seen something in my grave" which basically colloquially is more like really really not caring for somebody or something but tbh it sounded raw as hell so I put it in there  
> Bonnie is a Scottish term meaning pretty or beautiful, something I associate with darling  
> Get tae is basically Scottish for Get Fucked and basically is telling someone to leave  
> Ken from what I can tell means "know" or "know what I mean" but is also used in an almost every other word way the same way "like" is in America


	17. In The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS AUTHOR’S NOTE IS FILLED WITH PERSONAL ANECDOTES AND SHIT SO IF YOU’RE NOT INTO THAT JUST SKIP IT
> 
> Alright folks,  
> I know, it’s been positively ages since I posted (read: two weeks), but your boy has been so massively strung out as of late that it’s been hard to find time to breathe, much less write. I’ve officially moved into my new place (yay!) and landed another job (double yay!) and may have even decided to change my major to something more… literary? I know, dramatic gasp. Basically, I’ve just had a lot on my plate recently, and this chapter was giving me trouble as is before all that shit even hit the fan. This chapter is like, honestly my biggest nemesis at this point but at some point you just gotta put out content even if it's not the greatest in the world. When I'm not having a month-long anxiety fest I might come back and edit this. We'll see. I would like to thank you all for being patient with me, and continuing to leave such lovely comments and kudos because it really is what keeps me coming back to writing this no matter what. Hopefully I'll have some better content for you next week.
> 
>  
> 
> Also you KNOW that this isn't actually when they get together we got a WAYS to go my friends.
> 
> As always, all my love,  
> Taliesin
> 
> Also if you want any headcanons or ocs to be featured in this fic let me know!

While he dreamt, he dreamt of love.

 

His mother’s eyes, her laugh as she played with his hair, braiding his to match her own. He tried, in his youth, to do the same for her, but his small fingers were too thick and unsteady to complete the complex patterns. Instead, he’d draw his fingers through her hair, brushing it, feeling the waves rush over his soft palms, imagining what the ocean felt like.

The late nights when he couldn’t sleep but his father was still up watching the news. How he would sneak downstairs and clamber up on the couch, lay his head on his father’s chest to hear his heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of his chest. He would press his eyes closed and pretend to sleep as the blue light of the television shone past his eyelids. Even when he would climb out to the roof in California to watch the stars, the shingles digging into his spine and grabbing at his toes, listening to his own breath, the world did not carry the same weight as it did on those blue lit nights. It’s funny, how an entire house could seem so much more fragile than the memory of a man.

He dreamt of Sybok, reading poetry on the balcony overlooking the garden on Earth, Spock sipping tea and listening to the rain patter against the tin overhang keeping them dry, the droplets punctuating Sybok’s every word as he read aloud. The dream could not come up with the exact words of the poem he was reading, but it was the kind that soaked into your soul and changed who you were molecularly until you could no longer recognize the person you were before hearing it.

 _Oh,_ dream Spock thought. _He is reading Love._

 

He dreamt of Jim the most, dreamt up an entire life he had missed to the point where it felt more like being told a story you had read before and were just now remembering. Some of what he dreamt seemed so true that he assumed it must have been. But some was blatantly false. There was a vision of he and Jim driving, in a beat-up Honda through a dusty field in the early morning, the glow of it radiating as Jim sang to something over the radio, but instead of words he sang memories, memories of a life unlived and abandoned, but nevertheless beautiful.

Once, he thought he woke up. The world was dark, filled with pinpricks of blinking lights like stars. Jim was by his side, holding his hand and looking off into the distance, idly tracing Spock’s veins with his thumb. He too was surrounded by light. It reminded Spock of the field from the earlier dream.

He wanted to stay here. But it could not have been real. And he did not want the falsehood of it.

So he let his mind drift back to black.

 

When he woke up, it had been to bright lights in a hospital bed. The world beeped and bristled, and he immediately wanted to shut his eyes again from the overstimulation. He blinked, his lids heavy, trying to brush away the feeling of returning from the dead.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re awake.”

Spock turned his head slowly, trying to focus on the voice to his right. A man in a blue science division sweater appeared out of the haze of lights, and for the harshness of his tone and the rather impressive scowl he was sporting, he seemed relieved that Spock was awake.

“And you’re not attacking anybody. Fourth time’s the charm, I guess, or rather 300 ml of Trinadoxitrol. I told Jim already that I didn’t give a damn who you were, I was going to strap you to that fucking bed if you came at me again, so you’re lucky you’ve woken up with some sense this time around.”

Spock frowned at the man, who was busying himself checking screens, and then picking up various medical instruments and taking Spock’s readings.

“This time?”

The doctor inhaled a bit, turning to a monitor behind him and typing in a note. Spock read it over his shoulder. _300 ml of Trinadoxitrol may have been too much for Vulcan endocrine system to handle- patient exhibiting recall issues._

“Pardon me, Doctor…”

“McCoy,” the man grunted over his shoulder, “Leonard McCoy.”

“Doctor McCoy, you have not answered my question.”

“Wasn’t really a question, more of a statement with an interrogative slant. But uh, you’ve woken up from your medically induced sleep three times before now, each with as much aggression as when you went into it. I think your whole sort of limbic system went into shock, although now that I think of it... I don’t even know if Vulcans have amygdalae.”

Spock glared. “We do, Doctor McCoy, and in fact, they are more developed than those of the human race.”

“Now, I don’t see why it has to be a pissing contest, Mister Spock.”  
Spock was starting to see why a less aware version of himself might attack the good doctor. He turned away from him, only to start when he saw the man slumped over in the chair next to the foot of his bed. McCoy chuckled, giving a much more affectionate look to the sleeping Jim than he had Spock.

“He’s been here all three days, the idiot. Kept trying to get him to at least sleep in his room, but apparently, me having a direct line to him doesn’t count as fast enough knowledge of your health. Only fell asleep about twenty minutes ago, so I ain’t waking him up even if he’ll kill me for it.”

Spock stared at Jim, his hair plastered to one side from where he must have been leaning against the wall, or maybe laying on the bed. His shirt was wrinkled, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than Spock had ever seen them, his head balanced on his knees as he had folded in on himself for comfort. Spock stared at him for a long time.

“Your mom has been in a lot too,” McCoy added, turning back to the monitors.

Spock blinked at his back, processing.

“My mother?”

McCoy nodded, and from his angle, Spock could catch the edge of a smile on his face.

“Captain Pike was able to get some people out of the Katric Arc, along with some other civilians. Chekov beamed them up, that funky little madman. Your father is safe as well, although he hasn’t been in as much. Been a lot of communications with the Federation I think, trying to figure out where they’re all going to go.”

“And Nero?” Spock asked, and even to his own ears his measured tone sounded forced.

McCoy pressed a key on the computer a little too forcefully, and it beeped indignantly at him.

“Disappeared. Warped to lord knows where and with that kinda tech Telemetry says it could be years before we find him. Pike’s been raving to Command about setting a designated task force to search for him but,” McCoy waved a hand in the air grumpily, “bureaucracy and all that.”

Spock nodded, wearily. He was far too tired for all of this. He felt like he had been far too tired for too long.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Tried to convince his brain of the knowledge that his mother and father were safe. Tried to keep from mentally replaying the destruction of Vulcan on loop. But the latter seemed neverending, so he opened his eyes to watch Jim, the slow movement of his shoulders as he breathed, the way his lashes fell on his tired face. He looked strange, sleeping. Perhaps strange wasn’t the right word. He looked… still. And Jim was almost never still. When he was younger, he would move while he dreamt, like sleeping was just being held down and told to run in place. Now, he was-

 **“Hello, Doctor McCoy, what can I help you with today?”** The automated voice was booming, filling the room as McCoy furiously hit buttons to try to deactivate the A.I.

“No, Computer, I don’t need help, turn off, turn OFF, dammit!”

**“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that. Did you ask for ‘run off climate?’ I can retrieve files for you from-”**

The computer shut off with a whine as McCoy hurriedly removed its wireless connection.

“Stupid fucking thing, it’s one o’clock in the morning- you’d think they would program it to know when to be quiet, for Christ's sake… oh goddammit. Good morning Jim, don’t you look like a ray of sunshine.”

Jim, of course, looked like shit. He pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes and blinking as Spock had in the light.

“Wha… what time is it? ...told you not to let me sleep Bones, y’ bitch you said you’d keep me up,”  
“Oh no, how will I ever forgive myself,” Bones mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Your boyfriend is up.”

Jim rubbed his eyes some more.

“What are you talking about, you know I don’t da-” Jim stopped mid-sentence, jolting upright and banging his head against the wall behind him.

“Christ, kid would you-” Bones started, but Jim cut him off.

“Spock! You’re… you’re awake!”

McCoy rolled his eyes, turning back to the computer and sitting down. He had the air of a man strapping in for a turbulent takeoff.

Spock nodded, slowly.

“Yes. I have been informed that in my state I was… quite difficult to manage. I apologize for any difficulties you may have had in the past days, Officer Kirk.”

Jim’s face fell, and it wasn’t until it did that Spock realized Jim had been looking at him with something nearing uncomfortably unadulterated hope. Jim pulled back, recoiling into the wall again, and Spock leaned forward without really meaning to. The string that seemed to tie him to Jim was a stubborn thing, and it’s distance only appeared to have shortened over time.

“Thank you,” he blurted before he could convince himself not to. “For staying.” Jim looked up at him again, a look that was too similar to that of a boy he would have died for. A boy who had left the same way he knew this Jim would leave. “...Officer Kirk,” he tagged on at the end, looking down at his hands so he wouldn’t have to see the blow land. McCoy grumbled something under his breath from in his chair that sounded like _damn right_ but Jim just shifted back in his seat a little more.

“Of course, Officer Spock.”

They all sat in silence for a few moments, with only the computer beeping in the background until McCoy stood up suddenly, apparently finishing what he was doing.

“Alrighty. Mister Spock, I’ve checked your levels and from what I can tell, the Trinadoxitrol has all been flushed out of your system and your emotional levels are as balanced as ever, so I feel confident dismissing you from the medical ward. Need this bed for other patients if I think we can spare it-”

Spock nodded and tried to rise, only to pitch forward immediately, Jim leaping from his seat in order to catch him from hitting the ground. McCoy growled.

“If you had let me finish, Spock, I would have told you to take it slow at first as your body adjusts to moving again.”

“My apologies, Doctor, I was attempting to act with-”

But then Spock trailed off. He was staring at his arm.

He had been stripped down to his black undershirt, its short sleeves baring his skin. Jim’s hand, in his attempt to steady him, was on his bicep.

And he couldn’t hear him.

He couldn’t feel Jim.

 

He sat down on the cot again unsteadily, staring up at Kirk, who had quickly let go of him. McCoy came over with another medical device, scanning Spock up and down again.

“See, that’s just not normal, you should be fine by now but your readings have spiked again. Vulcan biology is such a-”

“I am in a perfectly acceptable state of health, Doctor McCoy,” Spock stated, his voice void of any tone or emotion. “Thank you for your services, I will make my way to my quarters now.”

McCoy grunted, pulling back one of Spock’s eyelids and shining a light into it.

“You can leave when I tell you to leave, Spock, and not a second before.”

Spock waited patiently, Jim awkwardly standing next to him, looking more unsteady than Spock himself. McCoy ran a few more tests and finally sighed, backing away.

“Alright, you should be fine. I’m discharging you under his supervision, and we should be fine.”  
Jim nodded.

“Of course, I’ll look after him.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, no. Not what I meant, Jimbo. Spock is in completely satisfactory levels of Vulcan health. You, on the other hand, haven’t slept or showered in three days and I had to fucking inject you with a hyaluronic compound make sure you weren’t going to dehydrate yourself into exhaustion. Spock, make sure he sleeps, or I’ll come after both your asses.

Spock couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his authoritative tone, suppressing the ghost of a chuckle when Jim only pouted in response. They were obviously close.

The idea of someone else now having the spot reserved next to Jim made his stomach hurt, but he pushed that down before he could stew on it.

“I will see to it that Officer Kirk goes directly to his quarters.”

“That he _sleeps_ , Spock,” McCoy ordered, making an I’m-watching-you hand motion to Jim, who looked rather bashful. Jim said his goodbyes, and Spock thanked the Doctor again, and they walked out together.

When the automatic door slid shut behind them, leaving them alone in the dim nightlights of the empty corridor, they both simply stood there. Not looking at each other, but not looking away.

When they finally spoke, it was at the same time.

“You don’t actually have to walk me back, Spock, that’s like-”

“I should report to Captain Pike and locate where I was assigned quarters-”

They both stopped talking. Jim nodded awkwardly and began backing away, but barely got two feet before he shook his head.

“Wait, no that, that won’t work. Pike has been constantly in and out of meetings with Command, this is his first night off since the incident. He’ll be asleep, it’s like the middle of the night.”

Spock frowned. He had no idea where his mother and father were staying either. Or Hikaru. Or Nyota.

Jim stepped forward, then fidgeted, rocking on his heels a bit.

“I… uh… you could…”

Spock didn’t know what Jim saw in his face, but he rocked backwards once more and stayed there.

“Lieutenant Sulu is probably on the main bridge. You might be able to ask if you could stay with him.”

Spock could hear Jim trying to keep the broken edge out of his voice. He wondered if he sounded like that when he spoke.

“That would be acceptable. Thank you, Officer Kirk.”

Jim nodded. Took a step away. Spock didn’t move.

Jim took another step, backwards, not turning around.

They spoke at the same time again.

“I mean my room’s pretty big being First Officer and all that-”

“Doctor McCoy was very adamant that I see you to your quarters-”

Spock coughed, turning away slightly in the silence that followed both of them trailing off to let the other finish. He could feel Jim looking at him like a hopeful sehlat, and hated himself for it.

 _You are digging yourself into a hole that will only become your grave,_ he thought to himself. _You are smarter than this. Spending a few nights by your bedside does not change twelve years._

He had stayed. But why? Why had he stayed if he was built for leaving, and why had he left if he was so intent on staying?

Spock could not let himself fall back into trusting him so easily. He kept his eyes diverted as he spoke.

“I apologize, Officer Kirk, I spoke out of turn and against my better judgment. I will be heading to the main bridge now.”

He started off, only getting a few feet before he felt Jim’s hand wrap around his wrist. Of course, it was only the physical touch, eerily silent. Spock pulled away quickly but could feel the lingering emptiness where the flood of Jim should have been in a ring around his skin. Jim looked himself like the touch had burned him, pulling his hand back from where Spock had jerked away in a second.

Silence hung over them.

“Spock…” Jim finally said, his voice quiet and lost in the space of the hallway. “I’m tired. You’re tired. It’s been… literally, one of the craziest weeks of my life and that’s saying something. I’m so fucking tired and I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes I keep seeing Nero’s face and I just, I need…”

Jim trailed off. And Spock thought he understood. Naturally, Jim would be almost as affected as himself in the wake of the event in Vulcan airspace. He simply did not want to be alone. Spock, in this moment, was simply the person available. He was not special. He never was.

But Jim looked scared. And Spock was weak. He had always been weak.

A part of him did not want to be alone. There was only logic in using Jim for such a purpose in this situation. It did not matter what he felt.

Correction: it did not matter what he felt, naturally, because he felt nothing.

Spock fell into place a step behind Jim.

“It would only be logical, at this hour, for me to reside in your quarters if you are confident you have sufficient space.”

Jim blinked at him as if it took him a few moments in his state to process what Spock had said.

“Oh yeah. Logic. Space, yeah, totally. Uh, it’s this way, follow me.”

He led the way through a maze of hallways, turning back every so often almost as if to make sure Spock was still there. Spock didn’t say anything, just following in silence, memorizing the floorplan of the Enterprise as he went.

When they came to the door, Jim pressed his hand against the scanner and let Spock in first. This was, apparently, where all of what had filled the empty apartment Spock had seen had gone. There were shelves of paper books, a glossy wooden record player that hadn’t been plugged in yet, model ships, a chessboard. Jim’s leather jacket was slung over the back of a chair. Jim’s quarters were softly and warmly lit so that the bed looked inviting and the room seemed warmer than it was.

“I’m gonna shower, okay?” Jim said, pulling some clothes out of a drawer and pointing towards what must have been an adjoining bathroom. “You can take some clothes from the dresser and change if you want.”

Spock just nodded, turning to examine the titles on the shelves and further inspect the room around him. He heard Jim shut the door behind him, the water start running.

There were pictures of Jim and McCoy taped to the inside of a bookless shelf, along with a few other recurring characters that Spock didn’t recognize. There was one of a run down blue car, a few atmospheric shots of the plains, one of Jim and a younger looking Pike together outside of a ranch house. The shelf didn’t have books but instead was cluttered knickknacks. A few shells, a statue of a horse, a stack of film, a camera, some old Starfleet badges that must have belonged to his parents. At first, Spock just looked, not wanting to disturb anything, but something caught his eye, and he pulled back a ratty stellar globe and a couple Californian postcards to get a better look at it.

He sucked in a breath, carefully running a hand over the paper snowflake taped to the side of the shelf. It was creased and wrinkled, long since having lost its sharp edges from being folded and thumbed over again and again. He traced a finger over the angles, pretending in his stupor that he could recall his younger hands working with small safety scissors, delicately cutting out each curve.

It didn’t make sense that he had kept it. He hadn’t kept anything else.

Perhaps it was simply a reminder not to make the same mistakes again.

 

Spock put the globe and postcards back, careful to arrange them in the same way he had found them, and went back to Jim’s drawers, opening a few before he chose what seemed like a long enough long sleeved t-shirt and some woefully short flannel pants that he simply chose to roll up to his calves.

The water stopped in the bathroom, and Spock looked around a bit before awkwardly sitting down on the side of the bed.

Jim came out of the bathroom, his baggy sweatpants countered by a white t-shirt that must have been a size too small. He was towelling his hair dry and blinked at Spock as if just waking up and realizing he was there. He proceeded to stare at him, before seemingly catching himself and coughing at the ground.

“Good, you got clothes, that’s good.”  
He hung up the towel, and even in the low light, Spock could see the water slick hair clinging to the back of his neck. The towel had ruffled the fine hairs towards the bottom, and the idea of reaching out and smoothing them back into place crossed Spock’s mind, but he just turned and slid under the covers of the bed. He settled on his side, facing away from Jim.

He heard Jim fumble with a few things behind him, and then after a moment the lights went out, and he heard the rustle of the blankets as he slid in bed next to Spock. Even without looking, Spock could feel that he was facing him.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Kirk?”

“I… I’m sorry.”

Spock did not turn around, even though every part of him wanted to. He was stronger than that.

“Vulcan may not have survived, but my culture did, as well as my mother and father. Tomorrow, I will go see if my friends were among those evacuated. There is a high likelihood of this. Under the circumstances, it is not the least desirable outcome.”

Jim was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he whispered, “I’m still sorry.”

_Oh._

He was not talking about Vulcan.

Spock, barely shifting the covers, turned to his other side, so that he was face to face with Jim. Because in the end, he was always weaker than he thought.

He could sense more than see the tears welling at the corners of Jim’s eyes.

Frozen in time, in a bed lost in the void of space, Spock took a deep breath in and gave himself permission to let go, if only a fraction. For after all this time, the least they were owed was permission to be broken together.

Without saying anything, Spock leaned forward slightly, pressing their foreheads together. Jim let out a shaky breath that turned into a watery laugh.

“What are you doing?”

“Providing comfort.”

Jim snorted, snaking a hand behind Spock’s head and wrapping his fingers in his hair, pulling him in tighter so that when he closed his eyes, Spock could feel Jim’s eyelashes on his cheek.

“You’re such a dork,” Jim whispered, his voice cracking towards the end.

Spock swallowed the _I am and have always been_ **_your_ ** _dork_ that pressed itself against his lips. Jim was not his. It was silly to presume that Jim thought of Spock as his own. But if he said nothing, he could let himself have this.

So instead, he whispered back, “Go to sleep, Kirk.”

Jim sniffled, his nose nearly poking Spock in the eye.

“M’kay. You too.”  
Spock, in the dark, hoped that Jim couldn’t see his smile.

“I will sleep as well, I assure you.”

Jim nodded, and Spock closed his eyes.

“I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning, Spock.”

He could let himself have this.

“I will see you in the morning, Jim.”

 

He fell asleep to the sound of Jim’s heartbeat and let himself pretend that this was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on the song In The Morning by Keaton Henson, and I included some of the lyrics below.
> 
> Empty pack of cigarettes by the bed  
> You woke up and looked at me and you said,  
> "Hey, Keaton, is it morning yet?"  
> No, we have a couple hours left  
> And god knows what will happen then
> 
> And there may be questions in your head  
> As a new day is dawning  
> Like what things for us lie ahead  
> But woman, I will see you in the morning  
> And woman, I will see you in the morning
> 
> And I know every mark on your hand  
> Perhaps you'd like me more if I was still in a band  
> But you know the crowds unsettle me  
> These days I don't play for free  
> Baby, please don't look at me  
> Like that
> 
> And there may be questions in your head  
> As a new day is dawning  
> Like what things for us lie ahead  
> And woman, I will see you in the morning  
> Oh, woman, I will see you in the morning  
> Oh, woman, I will see you in the morning  
> Morning.


	18. Chasing Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is one in the morning on a Monday night and this fool is finally posting his chapter. This fic is MOST LIKELY going to end up being updated every two weeks instead of weekly, at least until I can get on top of my shit again haha. I've somehow managed to hit that niche spot of barely sleeping at all and still feeling like there's no time in the day to do anything. But, college is a thing that's actually happening and getting done which is so wild because if you had asked me like, four years ago, hell even one year ago that I would be not only doing alright and school but have put chapters of writing on the internet I would have thought y'all were nuts. So I'm really really happy despite being slightly overwhelmed. That said, November is a really tough time for a lot of people mental health wise, so please remember to take care of yourselves and stay safe as we march our way into winter. You folks KNOW there ain't nobody out there advocating for self care like TOS Jim Kirk so take the advice of the Captain and make sure you keep yourself in ship shape and rested so you are fully equipped to handle the adventures tomorrow brings. And hey, if tomorrow sounds a bit overwhelming, that's chill too. Take a five minute Vulcan trance break and calm your mind, and just take today in three minutes at a time. You got this. The whole crew is on your side! And McCoy makes the absolute best comfort tea. Or hot cocoa, if that's more your style.
> 
> Haha, anyways, I hope y'all have a lovely week or two until I see you next, and I hope you enjoy this chapter that I really hope is actual words and not just things I think are words at one in the morning.  
> All my love and thanks,  
> Taliesin

Spock slid sideways, knocking into the base of a market vendor’s stand. A turtle-faced creature shrieked at him in some sort of clicking language, picking up a basket of holographic stones and holding it above its head to protect it while Spock hurriedly scrambled upwards, taking off further down the busy alley. He could hear shouts behind him, the lizard-like hiss of the contestants hanging in the humid air as he stumbled his way through the crowd, trying his best to weave and duck instead of shove.

“Scotty, where you at with that getaway vehicle, buddy?” came Jim’s voice over the comms, Spock trying to focus on the buzz in his ear instead of the ache in his lungs as he pushed his body further, telling himself to run. A woman(?) screeched behind him, and he turned back around to see a bulky armoured figure shove a vendor aside, her scales brightening to a warning orange as the thugs forced their way into the marketplace.

“I am trying my best, Lieutenant-Commander, but with the restrictions on technology in this place I can’t exactly send down a pod or beam you up. I’m going through the system to see what we have but beggars cannae be choosers! It was bad enough gettin ye these comms, which are right pieces of shit, let me tell ye-“

As if on cue the connection to the Enterprise fuzzed out, and Spock heard Jim swear, cursing the small communication devices that the away team had been equipped with. Spock’s had even failed at its one purpose, the flesh-coloured patch that it was equipped with to blend into his skin failing to match the green undertones so that he had a strangely pink ‘birthmark’ near his temple. While that had not been what gave them away at the Bel’Hannor temple, he was certain it had not helped the circumstances. Chekhov was a particularly adept navigator, but his insistence that everything in the universe was a Russian invention had not pleased the Bel’Hannoran council, especially when it came to their newest achievement they had been unveiling when Uhura and Kirk had been trying to obtain information from the High Elder. 

“I have only said what is truth!” Pavel was still complaining over the comms. “Grain harvester was invented by Vlasenko, you can read it in any Russian textbook!” 

“Regardless of the accuracy of your statement Chekhov, the Bel’Hannor did not appreciate your outburst. Perhaps, if you had apologized, instead of insisting-“ but Spock was cut off as a jagged dagger whizzed past his head, disappearing into a screaming crowd. He turned sharply, forcing his way into an offshoot alley, toppling a wooden vending stall sideways behind him to block his pursuers as he went, much to the owner’s distress. 

“Spock, status?” Jim’s voice sounded forced in his ear, the tone bringing an involuntary glare to Spock’s face. He was not sure what the sound meant, but the unreadable nature of it was what annoyed him.

“Uninjured, Officer, but still engaged in pursuit. I am en route to the Embassy where it is likely we will be able to beam out unseen.”

“Ooh, ooh, good plan, I will do zat!” Chekov quipped, followed by the muffled sounds of, “Sorry, sorry, excuse me, pardon me, sorry…” as he continued his path (wherever he might have been).

“Lieutenant Uhura?”

“Handling our vehicular problems; if you’ll excuse me-“ came Nyota’s voice, followed by a smooth transition into the Bel’Hannoran language of clicks and hisses. From her tone, she was either ordering someone around or bartering. Spock knew from experience that being on the opposite end of either of those conversations was usually terrifying, regardless.

Spock tuned it out as he exited the alley, coming to an open plaza bustling with people who were visiting what must have been a cultural attraction, a large domed building covered almost entirely with mosaic, depicting various scenes of the Bel’Hannor’s history told entirely in shades of blue and green sea glass. The plaza was filled with tourists, and a large portion of the cobblestone pathway was blocked by a towering fountain. Spock made a beeline for it.

“Halt!” a grating voice in Standard called from behind him, and Spock turned to look only to dive sideways as a large poleaxe swung down exactly where his shoulder had been seconds before, it’s blade lodging itself in the cobblestones. He rolled out of his dive, looking up to see the horned lizard man wielding the axe roar in his face, spittle peppering him as the guard’s frilled neck flaps billowed out to create a more imposing shape. With one powerful yank, he dislodged the poleaxe from the ground, rounding on Spock. Spock immediately shifted his weight to his left hip, swinging his right leg out to slide tackle the approaching creature, who pitched forward with a grunt, nearly landing on top of Spock who narrowly rolled out of the way, far too close for comfort. 

He scrambled up at the same time the guard did, poleaxe still in hand. He raised it over his head as if to impale Spock, who simply swung sideways and let it ram into the ground. The guard yanked on it, trying to pull it back up, frowning when it wouldn’t immediately come back out. He yanked a second time, and then a third, awkwardly turning to face Spock when that didn’t succeed. He seemed at a loss for what to do now.

Spock wrapped two hands around the hilt of the poleaxe, heaving upwards, the dagger-like projection jerking out from between the cobblestones with so much extra force that the butt of the pole connected with the head of the lizard man, who instantly crumpled to the ground.

Spock blinked at the collapsed form of the guard, then at the upside down poleaxe in his hand. He righted it, turning to face the rest of the plaza. 

There seemed to be some sort of commotion coming from the road leading to the right side of the domed building, the crowd of tourists all shrieking, jumbled together as they tried to force their way out of the narrower area. From behind him, more clicks and hisses came, along with the thud of heavy incoming footsteps from the alley. Placing his bets, he ran towards the crowd next to the mosaic building.

The congregation thinned out as they streamed away from the congested incoming street, and as he neared he could see through glimpses between passing figures, Jim, engaged in hand to hand combat with another temple guard. Except, by the looks of it, the guard sported a few more arms than Jim possessed.

Spock was about to force his way through the stream when he noticed movement behind him, two more guards charging their way into the plaza, one ahead of the other. The lead carried another poleaxe.

Spock raised an eyebrow, shifting his grip on his own weapon, and settling into the ready stance that Hikaru had taught him in the weeks since his last fight. It could not be that different than his sword fighting lessons.

It was very, very different. 

 

When his opponent finally fell, staggering on the broken end of Spock’s now-staff, Spock stumbled backwards, clutching at the slash across his deltoid. Panting, he glanced up only to find that the second guard he had seen was mere feet in front of him, winding backwards to release a throwing knife the size of Spock’s forearm. However, his eyes were not on Spock.

Spock felt like he was turning in slow motion, Jim’s name leaving his lips at the same time the knife left the guard’s hand, Jim looking up just as his aggressor fell before him.

In the murk of time that felt as thick as mud, Spock watched the knife arc towards Jim’s head, Jim leaning backwards, almost feeling it on his own skin as the blade passed millimetres away from Jim’s nose, drawing the breath out of both of them.

The knife sunk into the wall behind Jim, and the world sped up again as Jim grabbed the hilt, the blade a blur of movement as he pivoted, Spock barely processing that he had thrown it before he heard the thud of the guard hitting the ground behind him. 

Jim scanned the now empty plaza for any other threats, wide eyes landing only on Spock, both heaving as Jim just swallowed and nodded, obviously trying to calm down his own adrenaline.

“Thanks,” he breathed, his voice croaky.

“Of course,” Spock mumbled, unsure how to respond to the look Jim was pinning him with, but the strange silence that overcame them was quickly broken up by the sound of bells and wheels ricketing as a cart drawn by two cow-like dogs came skidding around the corner. Uhura was at the reigns, standing in front, and Chekov was waving from the back.

“You wouldn’t perhaps be heading to the embassy, would you?” Jim cracked as Chekov swung open a wooden door to the back of the cart.

“I charge per kilometre.” Uhura grinned, tightening her grip on the reigns as Spock and Jim piled into the cart.

“Be warned, friends, Lieutenant Uhura is quite an efficient driver and does not believe in curbs!” Chekov laughed as they shot off, going what Spock could only assume was over the speed limit on this planet. Jim slid into the back bench seat next to Spock, glancing at the slash in the fabric of his uniform, tinged with green.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

Jim’s hand hovered over the wound, balancing in the space between to close to bear and too far for comfort. Spock felt something in his chest heat up again, the feeling that flickered from rage to uncertainty to physical pain that had been threatening to boil over since he had first seen Jim again. 

Jim had not touched him since the night he had woken up in the med bay. When they had woken up, Spock had gone to see Captain Pike about arranging for his own quarters, leaving a quiet Jim to eat his breakfast. He had not asked again for Spock to stay the night after that, in fact, he barely asked anything of him at all. Jim had only in recent weeks started speaking to Spock without pertinence to the mission or Spock initiating the conversation. He wasn’t exactly ignoring Spock anymore, the opposite, in fact, he seemed afraid to leave him alone, trailing after him like a kicked puppy constantly, pausing hesitantly before leaving or exiting a room to see if Spock would choose to come with him. Spock could barely count the times he looked up from his position on the bridge to see Jim glancing his way, only to awkwardly pretend he had been looking at something else and shift his gaze back to his monitor. And Spock was a fairly adept counter. If Spock had not known any better, he would have said that Jim was afraid of him.

Which was foolish. Jim Kirk was not afraid of anything. Certainly not the Vulcan boy he had left back on Earth.

 

“It is only a scratch, Officer, I will heal quickly. There is no need for concern.” Jim nodded, pulling his hand away. Although it had done nothing whatsoever, Spock wanted him to put it back.

It made him tired, all this wanting. All he seemed to do these days was want.

Jim settled back in his seat, a careful fifteen inches between them. He seemed to think this a suitable distance because consciously or not it was the position he settled into every time he sat next to Spock. Spock mentally measured each time, but it was never less than 15.45. How strange to think that at this point he would be grateful for an inch less of air, a centimetre, and atom, anything that would put him to the point where he could at least say he was closer than he used to be, rather than focusing on how much farther he was than he had once been. It made him feel needy, it made him feel less Vulcan, this fixation on the space that in any other situation was supposed to be there. But with Jim, every inch, every second of silence was a light year further away from what he wanted, what he knew. The past weeks had been filled with nights of Spock staring at the ceiling of his quarters, willing his consciousness back to the point before Jim had ever touched him, before he had ever wanted anything. But not even his mind was safe from this all-encompassing need to just be… closer. 

“It isn’t fair,” Jim muttered, and for a moment Spock was shocked, thinking that he had somehow been conveying his thoughts, but then he saw Jim looking out over the side of the cart at the world around them. Chekov and Spock followed his gaze, watching as the further they got from the temple the more and more decrepit the buildings became, the faces of hungry children peering out from behind windows as they rocketed past, the way the weight of the real world came back as soon as you got out of the tourist district. Bel’Hannor had never been the poster child of the Federation, but it was only now, being here, that Spock had realized the full extent of the situation. He watched as they passed a group of farmhands returning from the field, the wheelbarrows behind them decidedly empty. A child ran up to her father, excited to see he was home from work early. He picked her up, holding her in his arms. Spock wondered if he saw her still as his daughter, or if she was now simply just another mouth he couldn’t feed. 

“What is not fair Officer Kirk?” Chekov asked, leaning back to look at him.

“The Council and the High Elder, they do nothing to help these people. They don’t care about feeding their people, or the workers in the fields, they just care about selling as much export as possible. They must be completely misconstruing their GDP to the federation, convincing us that their people are living freely and in perfect health.” Jim’s voice grew quieter, but he refused to turn away from the increasingly dismal scene to either side of them. When he spoke again, you could hear in his voice that he was looking at them, but seeing something else. “These people are starving. You can see it in their faces.”

The song of things unsaid hovered in the air between them.

Spock opened his mouth, closed it again, wanting to provide comfort but not knowing what to say. He was fairly certain that neither Uhura or Chekov knew about Jim’s being on Tarsus IV, and felt that he had to say something, anything, but in the end, Chekov spoke first.

“Russian history is quite linked to ah… disproportionate power structures. It is, universal, yes? In recent centuries we have had much more prosperity, but I am familiar with the stories of my ancestors.” Chekov was looking away from them, and when he caught the eye of a young gecko girl playing with a ragged doll by the side of the street he gave her a small wave. Blinking, she waved back with a three-fingered hand. Chekov smiled sadly as they left her in their wake.

“It may seem silly to you, as those not of Russia, to be so proud of Russian history and inventions. But our pride, it is our hope. For instance, my forefather, Evgeni Mikhailovich Chekov, we keep his journals, passed down in the family. He writes of his time in Stalinist Russia. Back then, my family is just farmers. He writes of the suffering, of the terror. He writes that no, he is not a “Soviet,” he is a Russian. Evgeni, he is communist, yes, but he does not see Stalin as a communist, he sees him as a murderer. Stalin commits such terrible crimes in the name of Soviet Union, in the name of principles that Evgeni believes in, and Evgeni says I will not let this man take my Russianess away from me. Evgeni writes he would rather starve, fighting Stalin as a Russian, then die, enabling Stalin as a Soviet."

“What happened to him, Pavel?” Uhura asked, turning her head slightly to show her grief.

Pavel shrugged. “He starved as a Russian. Died in 1946. They say he was listening to record of Shostakovich.”

They drove in silence. They could see the Embassy now, it’s spires just visible around the corner. 

A staticy signal came in over their comms.

“Fucken finally, alright, I should be able to beam ye up from the Embassy if that’s the plan-“

“No thanks, Scotty.”

Uhura pulled to a stop, everyone turning to look at Jim. He was staring ahead, and Spock was familiar with the look in his eyes.

It appears that fire never changes. No matter the years that go by.

“Uhura, take us back towards the temple.”

She glanced at Spock, who looked up at Jim.

“Do we have a plan, Lieutenant Commander?” Spock asked, careful with his tone.

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. “Do we need one?”

Spock couldn’t help but cast his gaze to the ground, hoping that maybe that at least would disguise the fondness in his eyes.

“No,” he said, and even he could hear the smile in his voice. “No, I suppose we do not.”

As Uhura cracked the reins and the cart swung about, Scotty came over the intercom.

“Wait, whatchya mean yer not coming towards the embassy, what are ye-“

“If you could kindly inform Captain Pike we may be delayed on our return ship, Officer Scott,” Spock responded as Pavel hooted as they went over a pothole at full speed and nearly launched themselves out of the cart. “I believe we are on our way to overthrow the current government.”

“It’s more of a stern talking to than an overthrow,” Jim added, laughing.

“Yes, that.”

There was a slight pause of feedback over the comms and then Scotty mumbled something that sounded like “well radge,” but Spock was fairly certain that was not in the Standard dictionary. They heard the click of him signing off before Jim burst into laughter. 

“At least he’s supportive, right Spock?”

Spock’s lips quirked as he stared back at Jim’s beaming face. It was so easy, with a man like him, to see hell as simply another place to be marched into. 

“Right, Officer.”

Jim smiled, leaning over to discuss methods of entry into the temple with Chekov against the wind, and Spock decided he liked the world as simple as it was like this. When all men had to be were heroes, when the darkness came only with the promise of being overcome. It was almost certain they would not make any widespread difference, the four of them against an entire feudal system, but there was something powerful in the knowledge that they would always try anyway. 

He thought back to that first meeting with Number One, of her questioning as to what his cause was, what he was fighting for.

He may never be as grandiose as Kirk or Pike. He would certainly never call himself a leader over a scientist. But there was something beautiful in the idea that in Starfleet, the world made sense. You fought to move the world forward. No matter if the battlefield was literal or scientific, Spock knew that here, in the farthest reaches of space or in the backseat of a cart on a planet he had never heard of until today, he would fight to change something. And maybe that was reason enough for fighting in the first place.

_ “It worries me… how stationary you are,” _ Sybok’s teenage voice echoed from the past, the words that had lingered in Spock’s mind long after they had been whispered years ago. So often, he had been so scared of never moving that he had not realized he had failed to ever take a step. But as dirt and gravel whipped at his face, Chekov hollering as Uhura raced on with all the confidence of a Granekian charioteer, he felt the weight of being still fall behind him, as if caught up in the wind. He may never be one for moving quickly, but now, at least, he was going somewhere.

He was going forward.

 

Jim grinned at him as they skidded to a halt in the city square, before they jumped out to storm the temple, with nothing on their side but wit and clever words. He reminded Spock of a tale his mother told him as a child, of the wild wind teaching the desert sand to dance. In the seconds it took him to leap out of the cart, Spock realized that there had only been 12 inches between them.

Well, 12.64. But… close. Closer.

 

Ignoring the smile that his face was finally remembering the shape of, Spock jumped out of the cart, landing at Jim’s side. And let the wind guide him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs used today are Chase Eagleson's covers of When The Party's Over by Billie Ellish and The Night We Met by Lord Huron. THAT BOY REMINDS ME OF JIM SO MUCH and in my heart I know its because he just looks like a white all-American farm boy and theres literally no other reason but I still love his songs and his voice and compositions are stunning, and its awesome when I get to use his work for inspo for a scene.
> 
> Feat Lyrics:
> 
> Don't you know I'm no good for you  
> I've learned to lose you, can't afford to  
> Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'  
> But nothin' ever stops you leavin'  
> Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own  
> I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that  
> I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that  
> Don't you know too much already  
> I'll only hurt you if you let me  
> Call me friend but keep me closer (Call me back)  
> And I'll call you when the party's over  
> ______
> 
> I had all and then most of you  
> Some and now none of you  
> Take me back to the night we met  
> I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
> Haunted by the ghost of you  
> Take me back to the night we met  
> When the night was full of terrors  
> And your eyes were filled with tears  
> When you had not touched me yet  
> Oh, take me back to the night we met


	19. Lavender Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE!
> 
> I know what you're thinking. "Holy shit, I thought that dude was dead!" But nah, I just had finals and then took a break for the winter holidays. But now, not only I, but these glorious space boys are back in action, coming to you once a week! I'm super excited to be writing again, and even more excited to interact with some of my favorite lovely readers, and hopefully, meet even more of you as we move forward in the story! Some small notes before we begin. You might read this chapter and be wondering why Jim and Spock don't interact that much in it. I was planning on moving forward with that good slow burn stuff, but it felt awkward not addressing Spock's autonomy in this like, huge impact moment in his life. So I chose to do that! Another question that may bounce off of that is, will there be a Spock Prime in this fic? And the answer is yes, I just chose a different route to approaching the canon that will come later, mostly because I wanted more boy time. I'm a man of simple wants and the "wants" is just boys kissing in space.
> 
> Anyways, as always thank you so much for reading, and you have all my love for supporting this work! And if you want any headcanons in this fic, just let me know!  
> -Taliesin

The funny thing about the immense vastness of the universe is that it has a strange way of making the world around you feel painfully small. In the aftermath of Nero, it was as if three separate lives Spock had lived had finally converged, and the cast of characters that had populated them had all taken up residence onboard a singular ship. It did not feel… crowded necessarily. It just felt enclosed. It wasn’t unusual for him to pass his father talking with Captain Pike in the hallway, or come across Vulcans he had spent his teen years with chatting up Kirk in the hallway. Those particular encounters were, distasteful, but did not fill him with the same unadulterated fear as he had experienced when he had seen Uhura and T’Pring eating together in the break room. He had not previously believed the universe was capable of containing that sort of meeting of the minds and he would not be surprised if they would be single-handedly responsible for launching the world a century forward in philosophy and gender equity.

“She had some amazing points about the male gaze being a hindrance to not only female presenting persons, but to toxic masculinity itself,” Uhura had mentioned when he had asked her about it later, idly checking over his work from time to time as he helped her translate backlogged communications. “I wasn’t aware that Vulcan was still practising fertilization dominantly through sperm-producing biological sex! She’s been so incredibly informative regarding traditional Vulcan culture. You’ve always been so tight-lipped about it- oh, don’t make that face Spock, you know it’s true.”

Spock blinked. He had not been aware he was making a face. For that matter, he had not seen Uhura look up. She continued her train of thought without pausing.

“Your conjugation is wrong in that second line there, its ‘-ar’ for the Yostun dialect, but the Admiral sends their correspondence in Dhrir forms.” Spock nodded, correcting the end of his last word to ‘-ia’. Uhura continued. “And of course I asked her several times if she wanted to share as much as she was because I know so much of the Vulcan Way is considered sacred.”

“May I ask what she said to that?”

When Uhura fell silent, missing a beat, he looked up. Her face had shifted, and for a second he found him caught off guard by her yet again. He had always been impressed by her duality, that her determination and intelligence were not secondhand or forerunners to her kindness, but rather that they partnered in a way that made her an even more exceptional whole. It was moments like this, where she looked at him so lovingly and gently, that made him respect her more than anything else. For so many Vulcans, the practice of switching from logical and calculating to caring took years of careful practice and patience from those around them. And somehow, he had stumbled across the one woman he knew who could do it without even blinking.

He was lucky to have her as a friend. He knew that even more deeply when she continued honestly, despite her hesitation.

“She… she said that with so little of the Vulcans left, that to continue to refuse to share the Vulcan Way would only result in its extinction.”

Spock nodded mechanically, turning to stare down at the screen in front of him.

“Yes. I suppose that would be the rational course of action.”

They continued their translations in silence. Spock was fairly certain that he confused the Dhrir and Yostun dialects several more times in the hour he continued to help her, but Uhura never corrected him. Instead, he listened as she hummed to herself quietly, the notes pulling him along, filling up the silence.

It was only after he had left, reporting to Captain Pike, the melody still drifting in his head, that he realized that perhaps she had not been humming for herself.

 

He met often with his mother during his downtime in the weeks that the small population of Vulcans continued to live on the Enterprise. There was reportedly quite a bit of bickering between various Federation Leaders and T’Pau (although Spock had a hard time reconciling the word “bickering” with his image of the Vulcan High Priestess) about where the remaining Vulcans should be settled down. There was talk of settling them in one of the currently existing colonies on other planets, and Spock had nearly laughed at the image of T’Pring living in his old townhome in California, but it was eventually decided that a team of 150 would be sent to a suitable planet that had been dubbed “New Vulcan”.

“It will take time to set up the infrastructure needed to support the remaining population,” his father had said to him one night when Spock had met him in their quarters. “Until then, those who are not necessary to its creation will be given the opportunity to return to a sense of normalcy in a Federation colony of their choosing.”

T’Pring had rolled her eyes when Spock had asked her intentions.

“I would have thought you knew me better than to think I would miss the privilege of revising the… more uninspired aspects of our society.”

He had been pleased by that. It was unlikely that in twenty years she would not be a part of High Command herself. She had always been a woman of... inspiration.

Of course, he had wanted to accompany them himself as well.

 

“Now why is that, Ashal-veh?” his mother asked, putting down her knitting on the bedside table. The bed was neatly tucked around her, and if it was not for the nasal cannula, it would be easy to believe that she was simply resting. Medical was unsure of what exactly had gone wrong, only that, considering that she had been converted into an energy pattern and beamed while falling through what was essentially a black hole, it was lucky that she had arrived in a state that was recognizable as a body, and severe respiratory failure was likely the best case scenario. Doctor McCoy hadn’t sugarcoated it: his mother might recover fully, or she might need oxygen therapy for the rest of her life.

“What matters, in the end, Spock, is she’s gonna make it,” the doctor had assured him, and Spock found the gruff analysis from the even gruffer man more comforting than he wanted to unpack at that moment.

Still, he had a hard time refraining from touching her every few minutes, to make certain she was alright. That she was still there.

“It is only natural that I help stabilize the Vulcan lineage in such a critical time Mother. To continue to stay in the employment of Starfleet would be…” _Childish, recreant, faithless,_ the small voice in his head continued the chant that it had so often employed in these past days. “...illogical.”

His mother laughed, a small breathy thing, that made him instinctively reach for the water glass by his bed before she waved him off. Instead, she straightened up, and he smiled at how she could fill an entire room from the confines of her bed.

“It is an illogical situation, Spock. To respond to it logically would only escalate the preposterousness of it all!”

Spock frowned slightly.

“I am uncertain I know what you mean, Mother.”

Amanda smiled softly and gave him a look he couldn’t quite define.

“Yes, I can see that, Spock. Would you be a darling and turn the heat up for me? It’s freezing in here.” He went to do so, and it wasn’t till his back was to her that she continued. “If you could do anything you wanted, Spock, anything in all the worlds, what would you be doing right now?”

Spock paused, eyeing the thermostat controls with an intensity more suited to looking at a bomb in need of diffusal.

“I see no reason to choose to be anywhere else than here with you, Mother.”

Amanda chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose flattery is one way out of that question. Oh, don’t worry darling. I’m sure you meant it, in your own way. But I meant in a more general sense.”

“Generalizations often result in an increased likelihood of a fault in the desired answer.” He shifted the temperature up 2.67 degrees. It was the temperature they would keep the house at home.

“No, Ashal-veh, they just decrease your ability to worm your way out of them, so you don’t like them. What would you be doing?”

He sat down in the seat by her bead heavily, like a weight he hadn’t been aware he was carrying got the better of him on the way down. For a long time, he stared at his hands.

“Are we counting alternate dimensions under the criteria of ‘all the worlds’?”

His mother smiled, but this time, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Whatever you’d like, Spock.”

He was quiet even longer after that.

“I… am not sure, Mother.”

She placed a hand, gently, on his knee. When he looked up, it took him a moment to realize she had tears in her eyes. Without hesitating, he reached out to brush them away for her. She laughed, soft and wet.

“Spock, in any of the scenarios you just ran through your head (and I know you must have tried about a thousand on for size), in any of the ones that you thought about, really truly thought you might want, were you even anywhere _near_ Vulcan?”

His throat felt tight, even as he slowly shook his head.

“I am so unbelievably proud of you, my son. In ways you may never understand. But after everything, why are you still tying yourself to some place that you don’t love?”

“I...” his voice caught in his throat, and he had to breathe several times before he could convince it to come out again. “I do not see love as a factor that should determine my location.”

Amanda ran a hand through his hair, much longer now than when she used to when he was a child. It curled just as much as hers, now. He closed his eyes, and let her touch roll over his mind in cool waves.

He didn’t realize until he opened them again that he was crying too.

“S’chn T’gai Spock,” she said, and the gentleness in her voice made his chest feel like it was being pried open. “I think that might be why your calculations are off.”

A huff of air passed his lips, but he couldn’t decide if it was a laugh or a sigh.

“Mother, there are so few of us left.”

“And they will all survive. Vulcan will survive. But you, Spock? You have always been the only one of your kind, and I don’t want you to spend your entire life trying to convince yourself that you are worth living it.”

His vision blurred, and the soft hiccups that he couldn’t bring himself to stop making echoed in the room.

“I don’t… I do not know where it is I belong.”

“ _Spo’k’hat’n’dlawa,”_ his mother whispered, and Spock couldn’t help his eyes widening at his mother’s effortless pronunciation of his full name. “Do you know what that means, Ashal-veh?” She paused, and Spock shook his head. “ _Half of each other’s heart and soul._ At the time, we thought it was beautifully poetic. The uniting of two unique loves into something beautiful in its own right. But Spock,” her voice faltered, and it seemed as if whatever had always held her words in shape was crumbling, emotion creeping into them. “I don't want you to be two halves of anything, my love. You are one beautiful, amazing miracle, and I want you to be wherever it is that makes you feel whole.”

 _I don’t know,_ he wanted to scream, _I don’t know and I’ve been_ “-looking for so long.” He realized belatedly that he had mumbled the end out loud, high pitched and nearly unintelligible.

“Spock,” His mother drew a hand across his brow, trying to even out the furrow that had taken up residence there. “You’re on a ship that explores the galaxy!” She giggled, and although he wasn’t sure what was so funny he found himself faintly smiling anyway as he leaned into her hand. “If there’s any way you could find it, it would be here.”

_But what… what if I am just running. What if that is all this is. Running from what I cannot fully be._

“Spock.” When Amanda looked up at him, he couldn’t help but think she heard the words echoing around his mind. But he knew that if she had been able to, it wouldn’t have felt so dreadfully lonely in there.

“Yes, Mother?”

“You do not know where this road leads. And you are looking for a destination. But the thing about growing is that it does not matter if you are going backwards, or right, or left, or towards home. No matter what, you’re going towards the future. You’re going towards a day where you will understand who you are, and love the person you’ve become. And even if you get a lost in the galaxy on your way there, or get a little lost in yourself, you’re still heading in the right direction. I know you, Ashal-veh. You want to stay here, and you don’t know why. And that scares you. But I’m asking, just this once, for you to trust what your heart is telling you. Does that sound like something you can do?”

He nodded. For some reason, this time it came easier.

His mother leaned forward, pulling him closer, and for a moment, the only thing that existed was her arms around him, his chin tucked into her shoulder, and the scent of clean linen.

And in that moment, he wasn’t half Vulcan or half human. He was just her son. And he knew that that was the most important thing he’d ever be.

“ **_Taluhk nash-veh k’dular,_ ** ” his mother murmured.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

 

When the Enterprise dropped the colony off at the exoplanet that would become New Vulcan, he did not watch it disappear as they taxied out of orbit in order to warp.

“All clear for takeoff, Lieutenant Spock?” Pike called, as he cued Sulu to prepare for launch.

“Yes, Captain. I believe we are.” Spock closed the tabs registering New Vulcan atmospheric signals. The crew busied itself around him, Uhura and Chekov debating about a certain telemetric reading, Sulu entering in warp commands, Jim trying to explain to an overzealous Ensign that even though they were heading to the Delta sector it was unlikely that they would even see any Deltans and that _no, they would not think you were more attractive if you wore a bald cap, Terry._

When he came back to himself after observing the crew around him, he found Pike’s eyes were locked on him. Searching. And, whatever the Captain had been looking for, he seemed to find it, because he smiled softly, nodded, and turned back to the bridge.

It took a moment for a slightly baffled Spock to realize that he was smiling back.

“Alright. Sulu? Punch it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to Lavender Burning by Half Waif. Which, folks? Is fucking gorgeous. I imagine her voice being the kind that guides you into an afterlife. But mostly, I thought this song, in particular, embodied how Spock felt in this time lapse.
> 
>  
> 
> Staring out into the shifting darkness  
> Tryin' to give a name to the place where my heart is  
> A country of shadows, hard to tell where the start is
> 
> I miss New York and that's the loneliest feeling  
> To be on a road and not know where it's leading  
> Fixated on a hole that once held my whole being
> 
> Watching my grandmother walk in her garden  
> She's lost her hearing, does not notice the cardinal  
> I hold fast to the hours before the obvious parting
> 
> I miss New York, but I don't wanna think about leaving  
> I'm out on the road and it's losing all of its meaning  
> Just tryin' to fill this hole that once held my whole being
> 
> Is this all there is?  
> Is this all there is?  
> Is this all there is?
> 
> Burning lavender over the oven  
> Filling the space with a strange kind of lovin'  
> Look after me now 'cause I'm lost, woman


	20. To You Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look... if you don't sleep on the last night of the week until you upload... it still counts as updating that week.
> 
> Heheh, this chapter is a little more mundane than usual, and you can tell I'm still getting into the swing of writing again but I'm really excited to have another regular update for y'all, especially with not only boy content, but more scenes with all our crew favorites! As always, if you guys have a specific characterization of a crewmember you enjoy, or a headcannon you wanna see in this fic, just let me know and I will almost certainly put it in for you!
> 
> Again, thank you all for the amazing continued support. I cried when I got so many comments the first day back posting again I love you guys so much.  
> Hope you enjoy the chapter, and that this update finds you well!  
> -Taliesin

Intergalactically, it is prevailingly accepted that there are fundamental laws of the universe. These vary in scope, as not all of them apply to the world as a whole, and this variation generally coincides with how many beings know of their existence. 

Most beings of “higher” intelligence learn those on the grand scale at an early age. Spock himself was intimately familiar. 

Newton’s first law of motion: an object at rest tends to stay at rest, and an object in motion tends to stay in motion. 

Kirchhoff’s loop rule: the sum of the potential differences encountered in a round trip around any closed loop in a circuit is zero. 

Murphy’s law: if anything can go wrong, it will.

 

Others are more specific. Rules, that while fundamental truths, only impacted a few lives. For example, Nyota Uhura’s voice can take the breath away from any creature who has the privilege of hearing her sing. It is a scientifically proven fact. Spock himself has tested it extensively. Another was that Hikaru Sulu was invariably able to name hyper-niche statistics about any subject he has been interested in for more than a day. Until recently, Spock had been unaware there was a census that kept track of how many birds populated Earth and had never thought that the length of the migration of an Arctic Tern would be information that he would ever know (or care) about, but Hikaru was both aware and cared. Passionately.

Some laws were so simple that Spock found that they did not even need testing. It may be scientifically... unconventional, but he knew these things were true through observation alone. He knew that Doctor McCoy pretended to like coffee but didn’t drink anything harder than herbal tea. He knew that every available Monday he had, Captain Pike could be found in his quarters watching the Bachelor over video call with Number One, and would continue to do so until the heat death of the Universe, as that was more likely to happen first than the show’s cancellation. He knew that Pavel broke small things on the ship when Scotty was getting too antsy and needed a distraction and that Scotty knew this, and fixed them anyway. 

And he knew his own world orbited entirely around James Tiberius Kirk. 

Simple, but fundamental, as important to the order of the universe as any law governing the gravitational pull of the planets.

And recently, Spock had discovered a new one. Small, devastatingly small, that seeped into the world around him and shifted how he saw and interpreted _ everything _ . Because it failed to make sense. 

He could understand Casimir’s effect. He could comprehend Curie’s law. 

But he could not understand why Jim wouldn’t touch him.

 

Spock highly doubted any other crew member noticed. After all, very few of them touched Spock themselves. Apparently halfway through the stay of the Vulcan refugees on the ship, HR had put together an impromptu employee training on the basics of Vulcan culture, mostly so crew members would stop offering to shake horrified Vulcan’s hands. Almost everyone, except for Pavel, had immediately stopped making physical contact with Spock if they had previously, and some had even formally apologized for their past actions.

It was interesting, to say the least. While Doctor McCoy had grumbled an odd  _ “sorry, didn’t know it made you like, feel shit, or whatever,”  _ and had not bothered to wait around long enough for Spock to explain how mind melding actually worked, other crew members had taken it rather differently.

“There are studies done! By old scientists, old ones, not Russian, a U.S. experiment, I know this because it was very strange and weird,” Pavel rambled on in the Mess Hall one day. “The studies are about affection, physical affection, and ah- shit what is in Standard, Nyota please,”

Spock watched baffled, forgetting his soup momentarily as the two turned to each other and shot back and forth in rapid Russian, Pavel becoming more and more animated as they went, gesturing wildly with one hand and nearly knocking over his glass, Spock easily reaching over to right it.

“Объятие- oh! Touch starvation! You mean touch starvation, Chekov,” Nyota smiled, victorious. She returned to her dinner and the book she was reading under the table.

“Ah, yes! The study was on touch starvation and they tested effects on primates’ brains when they did not receive touch from those around them, their mothers or their packs, this sort of thing.”

“I believe I am more developed than a primate, Chekov,” Spock interjected calmly.

Pavel waved him off.

“Do not play coy, Mister Spock, you are familiar with workings of science, this is how they test things. They test these monkeys, and when the monkeys do not receive touch, they die.”

“Are you insinuating that I will die if no one on the ship touches me, Pavel, because I do not believe that is the case.”

“No no no, of course not, that is silly, I insinuate that you will be very sad. You will not die, your heart will.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, Chekov darling,” Uhura quipped, without looking up from her page.

“Is that, is that more dramatic in Standard? His heart will be sad. Touch is vital for growth. Like vitamin. This is my reason.”

“The reason why you’re hugging Spock?”

Pavel glanced up at Uhura, trying to spoon broth into his mouth without shifting in his seat, his other arm still wrapped around Spock sitting next to him, who was sipping his tea, unbothered by the exchange.

“This is my reason the crew is dumb. I am hugging Spock because hugging Spock is nice. He is warm. And he does not mind. We are friends. Hug friends.”

Uhura had laughed at that, and Spock himself had a bit of trouble getting his tea down the right pipe.

 

Regardless of what Pavel or McCoy’s feelings were on the matter, Spock was aware that one crew member had known these Vulcan preferences long before the HR presentation. And, in the past, he had never paid them much mind. Now Jim Kirk, no matter how much more they talked, no matter how many missions they succeeded in together, no matter how many times the situation called for it explicitly, would not touch Spock. It wasn’t a matter of skin to skin contact even. He managed to avoid bumping shoulders in crowded hallways, accidents, in one case he even awkwardly refused to help Spock bandage a civilian.

“I mean… you, you got this right?” Kirk had mumbled in the streets of a war-torn city on a beta district planet, “I mean, this person in particular, yeah? So I can go help… more people! Like her! Over there! Be right back!”

Spock hadn’t watched him run off, instead glaring as he wrapped up the wound of a purple haired woman with far more eyes than he personally preferred on a face.

“You two having a domestic?”

Spock pointedly refrained from sighing.

“If you would please stay still, I will be able to finish this at a pace that more adequately suits both of our needs.”

“He seems like a nice boy, just a bit thick headed ‘round the edges. I’m sure the two of you will work it all out fine. Oh, would you look at that, he is a sweet one, isn’t he?”

Spock had glanced up at that, only to see Jim smiling as he picked up a small child, putting her on his back, chatting idly to distract her from the noise around her. He seemed to be helping her look for something. 

“Don’t worry lad, you two will have it sorted in no time. He’s probably just walking on roe shells, you see?”

Spock blinked.

“Walking on what?”

 

He watched them, more often than not it seemed. Since the night he had woken up in the hospital, Kirk may have not touched him, but he was… around more. It made sense, of course, that Spock saw Jim on the bridge, and Spock could excuse seeing him an oddly high amount (statistically speaking) in the hallways, but that didn’t explain why he had now taken to sitting with Spock and his companions in the mess hall.

And why  _ his  _ companions had, in turn, joined them as well. 

“I’m just saying, you know,” Scotty was leaning so far back in his chair that if Spock had touched him he was confident that alone would throw off his balance enough to send him toppling back. “You Americans keep trying to modernize your stupid football game, puttin’ robots an’ shit in it, which, mind you, I don’t dislike robots, but that’s Jock’s news, yeah? What I’m saying is, there are far more interesting sports to bring into the modern age. Ones with more sophistication!” He dragged out the last word, emphasizing each syllable. 

“Like… curling,” Hikaru frowned as he sipped his coffee.

“Like curling! Look, mate-”

Spock sighed, tuning the conversation out as Hikaru, Scotty, and McCoy (who the others referred to as ‘Bones,’ which Spock thought was a rather unfortunate title for a doctor) argued the merits of  _ sophistication _ in sporting events, Nyota and Pavel watching with varying degrees of interest, and Jim occasionally butting in to correct McCoy’s stats on American football teams. 

This last bit puzzled Spock. Jim had never seemed particularly interested in sports when they were children. Had he played football in high school, perhaps? When he gestured for emphasis, it was obvious that his hands were calloused, but Spock didn’t know enough about football to be able to determine if that was a likely cause. Perhaps he had gone back to Iowa and worked on a farm, and that was how he had gotten them. He didn’t appear to be any tanner or more freckled than how Spock remembered him, but human skin retained melanin for a shorter period of time than Vulcans, and Jim must have been indoors studying extensively to graduate early from Starfleet in such high regard. But, was that an assumption? Spock knew he was naturally intelligent, and when they had met at the bar, Jim had seemed popular and… more acquainted than he with the effects of alcohol. Perhaps he had simply been partying the past few years, non-stop, and now Spock was just an uninteresting flicker in his past, someone who was wildly behind in experience and reputation. Of course, Jim wouldn’t want to touch him, because his brain was boring and-

“Well, Spock is excellent at chess. I bet he could beat him in a heartbeat.”

Spock blinked, focusing back on the table, taking a moment to process that Nyota had been the one to say his name.

“I… I apologize, I was otherwise distracted, who are you insinuating I could defeat at chess?”

Uhura gestured dismissively at the group.

“Scotty was yelling about something, and then Bones said Kirk always beat him at chess, and Scotty reckoned Kirk could beat  _ anyone  _ here, and I was just informing him that he was mistaken because you’re by far the greatest chess player I’ve ever seen.” 

Spock and Kirk both opened their mouths to say something, but Scotty beat them to it.

“Didn’t sound like you were  _ informing  _ me of anything, miss. Seemed like you were betting.”

“Scotty, I don’t know that-” Jim fumbled, “I mean, I don’t think Officer Spock would want to-”

“I am afraid I still do not entirely understand. Lieutenant Commander Kirk does not partake in chess.”

Uhura frowned. “I just told you he does, Spock, why would you think he doesn’t?”

Spock looked around, and even Pavel was looking at him with a perplexed expression.

“He does not find it entertaining. It bores him.”

Uhura looked almost as confused as Bones, who was looking between Spock and Jim as if he was watching a sped up tennis match.

Jim coughed, and while it may have been the lighting, Spock could have sworn his ears were slightly redder than usual. But he was smiling bashfully when he looked up at Spock.

“Well, I said I’d play it when we were old and boring, didn’t I? Guess I’m finally dull enough.”

_ But you’re not,  _ Spock lamented.  _ You have never been dull and that is the most unfortunate part. _

“I am confused,” Pavel whispered far too loudly in Hikaru’s ear. “Did Mister Spock and Mister Kirk know each other before?”

“We…” Jim muttered, but he did not look away from Spock as he addressed Pavel. “We used to compete against each other often. A game I made up a long time ago.”

_ I’m bored. You look less boring. Come play with me. _

Spock thought, for a moment, about what his life may have been if he had just said no. Who he would have been. Where he might be now. 

Would he trade it? That life, for this one. 

_ Trust,  _ his mother had said,  _ what your heart is telling you.  _

Spock stood up rather abruptly, pushing his chair back, causing Scotty to start and nearly fall over. Kirk, unlike the rest of them, looked more terrified than confused.

“I apologize, Officer Spock, I didn’t mean to offend-”

Spock let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.

“I… I believe by Vulcan terms I live what is considered a rather unusual life, but by human standards, I suppose that my personality could be labeled dull enough to merit a chess game… if that would be acceptable to you, Lieutenant Commander.” 

For a beat, everything was silent as they all stared up at him.

“Was that a joke?” Bones whispered, barely flinching when Scotty elbowed him in the stomach. But Jim was already chuckling, rising and pushing in his chair behind him.

“Yeah, Spock. I think that’d be acceptable,” Jim said, “Although I gotta warn you, I haven’t gotten any less skilled in kicking your ass at this sort of thing.”

“Interestingly enough, Lieutenant Commander, I believe I have only improved.”

Jim laughed, beaming up at him, and for a moment Spock’s center of gravity shifted. Who cared about being touched, if Jim looked at him like that?

And then Scotty bellowed, "Wager an entire glass of my decade old Johnnie Walker Blue on Jimmy!”

Nyota, already on her feet and packing her PADD in her bag, immediately replied, "I have three Risan face masks on Spock, who else is in?”

Pavel took a few moments to form words, he was bouncing up and down so energetically, “I will grab a chess board! There is one in recreation room!” 

Bones watched them from his seat as they all made their way out off the mess hall. 

“I… he does jokes? No one told me he did jokes!”

 

***

“This ain’t half as funny as I thought it’d be,” McCoy complained, his body slumped over on the couch, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. His tea had long gone cold, and he seemed to be becoming increasingly indecisive about whether he should leave to heat it up or not. 

“It’s not really supposed to be funny, Bones,” Jim muttered, barely loud enough to make out and never taking his eyes off the board. It had been his turn for the past two minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he didn’t seem to be planning to take his move anytime soon. Spock was fine with this. It bought him time to figure out what to do next.

McCoy sighed.

“You’ve been playing for four hours guys. I told Pike you caught Ilvanian flu for this shit. That’s not even a real species Jim, he’s gonna kill me when he realizes. Can’t you, I dunno, make it more interesting?”

The others, like the Doctor, had quickly found that watching an untimed chess match between two experts in strategic thinking was… rather monotonous. Scotty had left no more than twenty minutes in, Pavel tagging along after him to chat about enhanced warp factor capability or something of that nature. Uhura had claimed she had better things to do after an hour, insisting that Hikaru inform her later on whether or not Scotty owed her drinks afterward. Two hours after that, Hikaru had passed the torch to McCoy, claiming that he’d “seen enough of these matches to know this will end in a draw, and honestly, watching my plants grow is more entertaining than twenty more hours of this.” 

Spock, however, was captivated.

Jim was right. His mental skill had not depreciated in the least over the past years, and if anything, Spock was finding that the man had more tricks up his sleeve than ever before. There had been a particular turn where Jim had completely caught him off guard with a Mortimer’s Trap by shifting the perspective of a moveable level halfway through an offensive play. 

It had been thrilling, to say the least. 

 

“I don’t think it’s gonna be any more interesting anytime soon, Bones. We’ve barely just gotten to the neutral levels, and it won’t really pick up until we’ve made it to the upper fixed level. You’re welcome to go though, I hear there's an awful outbreak of Ilvanian flu that needs to be treated.”

Spock’s lips twitched, even as an annoyed McCoy straightened up on the couch.

“Oh hah hah Jim, be grateful your chess skills are stronger than your comedy, you’d have to keep your day job.”

“Comedy is my day job, Bones.” Jim grinned as he finally placed his bishop on an upper-level grey space. “This Enterprise thing is just a rather demanding side gig.”

Spock coughed. It was definitely a cough. Jim beamed at him anyways.

McCoy growled, pushing himself off the couch and snagging his teacup. “Christ, you’re impossible. And now you’ve got encouragement, which is terrifying. I don’t know if the universe can handle a more confident Jim Kirk. I sure as hell can’t. Tell Uhura who wins. That is if you don’t spend the rest of your lives staring at squares and muttering made up shit.”

“The  Blackmar–Diemer Gambit is a real thing, Leonard!” Jim called after McCoy as he left the room, waving him off dismissively. 

“You did mutter about it for a rather extensive period, admittedly,” Spock quipped, examining the shifted dynamic of the board after Jim’s last move.

Almost a minute of examining the board passed before Spock realized that Jim had fallen silent. Glancing up, he found Kirk staring at him. 

“Sorry,” Jim said, in a distracted sort of way that didn’t seem very sorry at all. He kept looking.

“There is no need to apologize, Lieutenant Commander. You have not done anything wrong.”

Jim chuckled.

“You, uh, you don’t need to call me that. Jim is alright. Or Kirk, if you want.”

Spock nodded, a little more hesitantly.

“As you wish. Is there… something you would wish to discuss, Kirk, before we continue.”

Flushing, Jim wriggled in his seat, choosing this as the perfect time to find the appearance of the floor fascinating. 

“No, no, I just. You seem to be in a good mood today. It’s nice.”

“It is… nice.” Spock repeated, confused enough to be uncertain of whether he had said it as a question or a statement. 

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled. “It’s nice.”

A few more rounds passed in quiet thought before they spoke again. Strangely, Spock found that he was compelled to fill the silence.

“You have improved. Not only in chess, but in strategy as a whole. I… recall the incident with the Kobayashi Maru.”

Jim snickered.

“Yeah, most of Starfleet Command recalls it as well. There was a trial and everything, barely got off with a suspension. Basically, the only thing that kept me from being expelled was this letter someone involved with the simulation sent to the jury for review, which was hilarious. ‘ _ While Cadet Kirk failed to see the intended meaning for the simulation, it is through his actions he has succeeded in exhibiting the same characteristics of command the Kobayashi Maru seeks to invoke. Though acting only through the lens of his all-encompassing saviors complex and general disregard for authority, _ ’” Jim broke off, unable to keep his laughter contained.

“‘ _ Kirk disregarded his own safety and the integrity of his own scholastic track in order to 'save' the lives of those in the simulation _ ,’” Spock whispered, not taking his eyes off the chess board. Jim quickly fell completely silent, instead choosing to stare at Spock open-mouthed. “‘ _ The foolishness of this train of thought can not be understated, however, Starfleet prides itself on saving civilian lives no matter what the cost. I may remind you that Cadet Kirk participated in the program only two times previously in order to gather the data he needed to execute the hack, and did so leaving little to no residual evidence that he had been there. In this way, he was not only successful at saving the lives of the, _ and I feel I failed to stress this enough, Jim,  **_fictional_ ** _ simulated creatures, he did so with efficiency.’” _

Jim gaped at him, unable to speak. So Spock finished what he had started.

“ _ It is for this reason,”  _ Spock mumbled, finally daring to glance up and look Jim in the eyes, “ _ that I not only oppose the expulsion of James Tiberius Kirk but commend him for his action. After all, what is a Captain, if not one willing to take risks for the sake of saving lives.” _

If a pin had dropped in the empty rec room, Spock thought he might hear it echo.

“They… they said the person who sent it was a hacker. The person who made the simulation. Some guy called  Phaethon,” Jim fumbled for words. “I… I looked for him but he had wiped himself off the web two years prior.”

“It wasn’t my most nuanced choice, I will give you that. Phaethon is from the myth of Cygnus. A fool, who stole Apollo’s chariot and could not control the reigns.” 

Perhaps the others had been right. Spock found the chess game incredibly hard to focus on at the moment. 

Jim still appeared to be wrestling with something in his head.

“But… that means you knew I was there. At Starfleet. The whole time.”

Spock frowned.

“It is not as if you are the most covert of people, Jim. It is difficult not to notice you.”

“But, what-” Jim huffed, leaning back in his chair. “You mean you never once thought of coming up to me?”

_ Of course, I did,  _ Spock thought, but he only said, “You say this as if you ever attempted to yourself, Jim.”

Jim stared at him. Except now, his expression wasn’t one of awe. In fact, he seemed rather… pissed off.

“I didn’t know, Spock! I spent what, three years walking the same fucking campus as you every day and I never fucking knew! God, I’m such an idiot!” His knee slammed against the bottom of the table as he tried to back up further, and he cursed, glaring down at it.

Spock… had no idea how to respond to this turn in the conversation.

“I… I do not believe you are an idiot, Lieutenant Commander, perhaps you were just-” Jim scoffed at the reversion to his title, putting his head in his hands. “...preoccupied,” Spock managed to finish.

“Yeah, I was. But it takes a real dumbass to be preoccupied with the thing you’re missing ten feet away from you Spock.” 

Jim’s shoulders had hunched in on himself, his elbows tucked in towards his chest as he leaned over the table, a hand pulling at his hair. It was amazing, Spock thought, that even now, Jim managed to collapse a personality so much larger-than-life into a space so small.  _ He still folds in,  _ Spock thought,  _ when he’s scared.  _

“I have…” Spock hesitated, “I’ve upset you.”

Jim sighed.

“No, no, Spock, you haven’t upset me, I’ve upset me. But that’s not really out of the ordinary is it.”

“Jim,” Spock reached out, momentarily unthinking, to provide some semblance of comfort, but seconds before he touched Jim’s arm he froze. Jim froze too, looking back and forth between Spock’s outstretched hand and his blank face.

“...Spock? Are… are you good?”

At the sound of Jim’s voice, as if pressing play on an old fashioned DVD, Spock retracted his hand to his lap so quickly that Jim could have blinked and missed it. 

“I apologize, Lieutenant Commander, that was uncalled for of me. You must wish to be alone, and it seems we have abandoned the game regardless. I will leave you to it.” Spock was up and out of his chair, and half the distance towards the door before Jim even registered what he had said.

“Wait, shit, Spock wait!”

_ Do not turn around, it will all be fine if you do not turn around, as long as you do not- _

Spock turned around.

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander?”

He should not have turned around. Jim looked… panicked. Wide-eyed and desperate not to… well. Spock didn’t know what Jim did or did not want. That much was becoming more and more obvious every day.

“You… in the med bay, after Nero, you touched me and you like, it was like you burned yourself so I haven’t been… I mean I’ve been avoiding… I mean I guess I…” Jim swallowed, let out a breath that seemed to rattle him from the inside out. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought I was hurting you.”

_ It all would have been fine if you just hadn’t turned around.  _

_ If I had not done a number of things,  _ Spock shot back at the voice in his head,  _ but we are aware of how that goes. _

Jim was still staring at him. Spock realized belatedly he hadn’t said anything back.

“You… you did not hurt me, Jim. I was… caught off guard. I… could no longer sense your mental state and it… shocked me momentarily.”

Jim blinked.

“Oh. I… I didn’t realize it had worked. I uh… a long time ago I got myself trained in putting mental blocks up when I’m idle. To be honest, I thought the classes were a rip-off.”

“I… see,” Spock said, absolutely not seeing.

“I didn’t want anybody else in my head,” Jim whispered. “I… it wasn’t anybody else’s place to be but yours, you know?”

“Yes,” Spock said, absolutely not knowing.

They stood there in silence for a long time. Spock unable to think and Jim… well, it seemed Spock might never know what Jim was thinking again. Even the concept of that made the room sound quieter.

Finally, Jim spoke.

“If you don’t mind, we could… finish the game? Be a shame for Scotty to lose out on those face products. He loves multi-masking.”

Spock, taking care to make his gait seem more steady than it was, settle back down in his chair.

“Yes, I suppose Uhura would be rather put out if we did not at least attempt to finish. Apparently, alcohol made in the 22nd century is quite good.”

Jim managed a chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s a generally better with age kind of thing. It was your move? I think?”

“I believe it was.”

 

Spock couldn’t help but remember, as they continued to play, another fundamental law learned in his younger years. The Uncertainty principle, aptly named, and central to quantum mechanics, that states that two complementary parameters cannot both be known to infinite accuracy; the more you know about one, the less you know about the other.

As he watched the man across from him carefully formulating and choosing chess moves, he pictured the child he had known, sitting cross-legged in the playground, brashly moving forward with his spur of the moment battle plans, chatting incessantly, beaming at Spock like he was the most important thing in any galaxy.

He wondered if he would ever be able to understand them both. Or if it would always seem that the more he learned about one, the less he understood of the other.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	21. Slack Jaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> EDIT: AHHH I deleted the me being sick update so I can't respond to your comments individually but a SUPER BIG SHOUTOUT to Alphafemale123, Tygerfern, Reichan906, and Ashdoe for well-wishing me and in general being the best readers I could ask for, you guys are amazing and so sweet and I'm sorry I'm a fool who doesn't know how AO3 works! I love you all so much you really made me feel so much better, so thank you!
> 
> Firstly, THE BIGGEST MOST MASSIVE THANK YOU to all the commenters who sent me get well messages you're all the literal sweetest and it definitely made my garbage sick days so much better. As well as that, thank you to everyone being so understanding about me being a bit late on my chapter so close to my hiatus. I'm really glad you folks are still so supportive when I'm just the messiest man ever.
> 
> Secondly, this sort of story arc which we're about to start with this chapter is actually going to be three chapters long! It was originally gonna be two, but then I wrote the first like quarter and it was already ten pages so I didn't wanna dump a wall of text all at once. So, this chapter is a little less entertaining than I'd like (feat. Me dumping my nerdy ass geology science everywhere) but! It sets up for the next chapter which will ALSO be out this week that's all crew development, boy content, and DRAMA so hopefully that's exciting. Also? I kinda accidentally made Scotty and McCoy implied as a thing that might happen? It just happened as I wrote it. So let me know? If thats a thing y'all are into or not, I have a lot of like, interesting things in the next chapter about characters that might either make you love it or hate it, so, let me know! 
> 
> Thank you again for continuing to support the story (all these new kudos? wow! hello friends!) as well as my messy ass while I write it. You are all so amazing and as always, I'm writing this for you! Yeah, you! The person reading this note right now! You're great and I appreciate you!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!  
> -Taliesin

For a few invaluable weeks, Spock was able to convince himself that perhaps, just perhaps, everything would be alright. 

The world made itself simple. (Or as simple as traveling the universe could be.) Spock had friends. He had a job. He had a life. And… he had Jim, in a way. To ask for anything more was unfathomable. He had everything he needed. The wanting was just… inconsequential, baggage. So he ignored it and he went about his days.

   He ate breakfast with Hikaru, who read the news out loud as Spock pretended not to listen. He went to work on days without missions, going through log files with Nyota as they listened to Pavel’s stories of home in the morning- he always woke up homesick. According to Chekov, the only thing more beautiful than home is dreaming of home. Spock found it hard to disagree, especially now. So he listened to memories of green hills and streams, and let Pavel paint him pictures of Russia. 

Around noon, McCoy would come by to complain that there wasn’t enough ensign help in the med bay, and Spock would offer assistance, and McCoy would insist he didn’t need his help. McCoy would storm off, and Spock would wait about ten minutes, and wander into the med bay claiming that he wanted to research something and needed to use the lab. McCoy would let him fiddle with whatever he wanted, and Spock wouldn’t ask why every day McCoy “accidentally” made too much tea. Instead, he would point out that it would be illogical for them to let it go to waste. So they’d sit and drink tea together, and some days McCoy would be quiet, and sometimes he’d be impossible to quiet in his ranting, but either way, the days were enjoyable. Scotty would sometimes stop in and debate something with McCoy to let off steam, but more often than not he’d just double check to make sure McCoy’s computer was working. 

“It’s you old folks,” Scotty would snicker, patting McCoy on the shoulder. “It’s like you were born before technology.” 

“I’m younger than you are, ass,” McCoy would volley back, but with none of the bite he usually had. 

“Don’t worry, a ghràdh. I’m brilliant enough to come up with some idea to keep your grubby hands from breaking Aisla here apart.” 

“Are you… did you give the computer a name, Scotty?” 

“Lord, you’ve just been calling her computer? Well, no wonder she doesn’t like you, that’s just rude.”

Eventually, Scotty would saunter out, and McCoy would come up with a few insults until he managed to find one that sounded harsh enough.

“If that man had an idea, it would die of loneliness,” he would grumble into his tea, or something of the like. Spock would nod and go back to filing medical reports. Maybe, if the stars aligned, he’d play chess with Jim at night. 

They rarely spoke, and even when they did, it was almost never a conversation. It was always just one-sided stories. Some days Jim would talk to him, not about his past, but of the settings that had contained it. A drive-in theatre in Iowa. A camera store he had found in Mojave. His apartment, his cat. Somedays, he would just mumble about the rain. But even Spock, listening as intently as he could, could not make out what he meant those days. So he would sit, and be there, which in some ways felt like enough, and listen to the way the rain had soaked into Jim’s voice.

When they parted for the night, Jim would say goodnight, smile, and head back to his quarters. They never touched and Spock never followed. They had not made up, per se. Such language would insinuate that something had been fixed. But silently, with no questions or conversations, they had gently built something back. Every game, every smile in the hallway, or rain-soaked story was a fresh layer of gauze over an old, deep wound. On its own, a layer was nothing. Even as things were, (whatever it was that they were), it wasn't strong. It wasn’t even stable.

But it stopped the bleeding. And for now, he could let that be enough.

 

Some days, they’d save the world, and some days the universe. But most days they just… lived. Spock found that he did not need much else. 

 

Of course, they managed to fuck that up. Because on the fifth week of delicate balance and quiet comfort, the Enterprise landed on Daeama.

   “It’s a pretty standard diplomatic mission,” Pike was flipping through the notes on his PADD to jog his memory before he turned to address the landing crew. “Daeama is home to several species of humanoid inhabitants, whose main link is that they all subscribe to one religion, the Church of Atvis, which, from what I can tell, just celebrates joy, and like living life to the fullest and all that.”

“And on the sixth day,” McCoy grumbled, “God said let there be YOLO,” to which Scotty snickered and Uhura elbowed him in the side. Pike didn’t seem to care, however.

“Do try to not be a dumbass on planet, McCoy. Anyways, every thirty years or so they have a celebration, something called the Festival of Lavidei, they’ll tell you more about it, but it’s standard for the Federation to send a group to attend to pay their respects, and we just happen to be in the area.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Scotty was fidgeting with his formal uniform, seemingly unable to leave the gold buttons alone for more than a few seconds. Spock could not help but agree. Even for the few minutes they had been getting briefed, the design had been wearing on his attention. It was as if they had designed the fabric to be itchy. “We’re just...going to a party?”

Pike sighed, “A festival.”

“I think you’d like me better at a party than at Coachella, Captain, with all due respect.”

“There wasn’t any respect in that at all, Scotty. And if it helps you behave, then sure, it’s a party. We’ll touch down, meet a few higher-ups, stay for dinner, and then leave when it’s acceptable. Think of it as a night-long shore leave.”

“Definitely like me better at a party than on shore leave,” Scotty murmured, and McCoy had an entirely unrelated coughing fit. Still, his fidgeting lessened slightly.

In fact, the majority of them seemed fairly at ease. Besides for McCoy and Scotty’s half-serious protests that came about every time they were selected for a landing mission, Kirk, Hikaru, and Spock all seemed relatively unperturbed. The only one who seemed genuinely flustered was, of all people, Nyota.

“Captain, could we perhaps discuss, some of the more... historic meetings of Daeamians with the Federation?” Nyota’s voice was still measured, but Spock couldn’t help but wonder at the slight off-beat it had, like she was trying not to trip. 

“If you are referring to the Selkie Incident, Lieutenant Uhura, I would advise you not to worry. It happened over 200 years ago, and the Federation has had many meetings with the Daeamians since that time that have gone off without a hitch. From a historical perspective, it seems that the… the whole affair was rooted in a misunderstanding of the two cultures, which we have since passed.”

“Oh Christ,” McCoy huffed, “we’re going somewhere that had an Incident? Don’t pretend we didn’t hear the capital ‘I’, Captain, because we definitely did.”

“The majority of American history is one big ‘Incident,” though, ain’t it? And you’ve been there,” Scotty quipped.

“Tell that to Braveheart, Scotty.”

“Boys,” Pike sighed, and it was less out of authority and more out of embarrassment that the two turned back to their Captain. “Yes, there was an incident, lowercase ‘i’, mind you, a very long time ago. It’s in the past now, and I would advise you not to bring it up on planet. I’m sure you two will find a myriad of other ways to be offensive without the advantage that would give you.”

“Does this… incident,” Hikaru began, taking care not to emphasize the word, “have anything to do with why Chekov is pouting at the comm station versus in formal wear like the rest of us?”

They all turned to look towards the comm station, where Pavel was most certainly pouting in addition to pretending he couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Ensign Chekov,” Pike sighed, glancing over his shoulder, “is staying here because he is not above the Federation legal drinking age, and Daeama does not necessarily believe in synthehol during their festivities.”

“My kinda folk,” Scotty murmured at the same time McCoy said, “Wait, how old is he?”

Pike turned to Chekov, who gave up pretending not to listen.

“Seventeen, sir,” he moped.

“ _ Jesus _ , he’s seventeen?” McCoy blurted, to which Chekov only sunk lower in his chair.

“Chekov is fully capable of doing anything accept drink liquor, regardless of his age, Doctor McCoy. As for you all, there is absolutely nothing to worry about. I’ll meet you at the shuttle in five minutes. I have to send a message to Command and we’ll be on our way. Dismissed.” Pike barely finished speaking before he turned around, waving them all off.

McCoy and Scotty bickered the entire way out of the main deck, a distracted Uhura following close behind. Hikaru walked over to console Pavel, and suddenly Spock was standing alone with Jim.

“You ready for a party then, Spock?” Jim smiled at him, all brash talk and no bite, seemingly already cowed at the prospect of balancing shore leave with Scotty with a mission where Pike was present.

“I am not quite sure, Lieutenant-Commander. I am unaware of the intricacies of Coachella.”

Jim snickered, straightening his uniform. They had recently been remodeled, and Spock had to admit that despite the fabric choice the slim high collared coat with colored stripes… suited Kirk (although Scotty insisted that engineering red was what really made it ‘pop’).

“We’re gonna pray to all the gods out there that it isn’t anything like that. Last year they did one of those holographic duets with classic artists, and when pixel Gaga joined in with Mythic Horta for their new single, the boy about lost his mind.”

Spock blinked.

“I must admit, Lieutenant-Commander, I have very little grasp on anything you just said.”

Jim lost it, the force of his laughter filling the room around them, making Hikaru turn around and taking Spock off guard. He had not heard Jim laugh like that in...well. In a very long time.

“Oh Jesus, Spock I’ll show you the video in the shuttle, you’ll love it.” Jim wiped a tear from his eye, turning to beam at Spock, and Spock couldn’t help himself from letting his face soften in return.

“Come on, let’s catch up with the others, I wanna show this to Bones again, he’s losing it in the corner of the video the whole time, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jim sped up, and without pausing to question it, Spock followed him.

He felt better than he had in years.

 

Daeama was a uniquely beautiful planet. They touched down a mile or so out of the capital city in what may have once been a desert, considering the heat, but the terrain was now spattered with radial patterns of colored glass like patchwork. Every step was followed with a small echoing bell-like noise that radiated and changed pitch as the different crystals shifted the wavelength, a quirk that seemed to make the planet itself hum whenever you were moving. Even without Pavel’s boundless energy pulling them along, it was hard to stay focused on moving towards the capital, and they all found themselves idling a little more than usual.

“The early Starfleet explorers nicknamed it the Crystal Ball,” Uhura recounted, snickering as Scotty tried to tap dance on a small blue circle whose pitch he’d decided he liked best. “A common piece of folklore is that if you look into the glass during the solstices that the planet itself may whisper you your future.”

“Personal preference,” McCoy muttered, even as he kneeled down to rap his knuckles against a small yellow patch beneath his feet, “but I think I prefer my planets with minimal ability to whisper me anything. In fact, inability is a strong requirement in my case.”

Nyota smiled, “Oh, it’s nothing like that. There are stories of course, but there are stories in every culture. Here, it’s of a creature that lives beneath the ground, on a smaller original planet, who built himself a stained glass crust around the world so he could stare at the colors reflecting the sun.”

McCoy spluttered, but Jim seemed fascinated.

“Is there any evidence for that?”

“Fuck, I hope not!” McCoy blurted. “That’s terrifying. That’s like, a comfortable myth for them?”

“Unfortunately no, there isn’t, Jim. Although it’s an interesting concept. Historically speaking, and scientifically as well I suppose, there was a storm long before the current civilizations took root. This storm was apparently the most intense the planet had ever seen, although it’s very difficult to gather any concrete answers as to why or how it started. The sand that covered the majority of the planet at the time was a unique composition, they’ve discovered far more variations of quartz here on Daeama than any other planet, and the lightning from the storm at the time was about 2000 degrees Celsius or so. It was all fused into silica glass. It happens on Earth as well, albeit very rarely, and these are obviously more radial than the fulgurites formed on Earth.”

“Fulgurites?” This came from Hikaru, who, while managing to refrain from tapping on all the glass around them, was still overlooking the horizon with a near-reverent gaze.

“Some call them petrified lighting,” Nyota clarified, her face betraying her even tone on how much she enjoyed the name, “small tube-like structures, almost like the roots of a tree, marking the path of the lightning as it makes contact with the sand. The radial crystal habit of the type of quartz most common here is very unique. The chemical composition is greatly the same as those found on Earth, with some discrepancies creating colors such as this. Higher traces of sulfur, yellow, more nickel oxide, violet, that sort of thing. But all that is trace amounts. What makes it different is how the atoms are aligned, the base shape that then repeats in a lattice to form the crystals. Here, it’s radial, all emanating from a single point.”

Spock had barely moved since he had stepped off the shuttle. Visually, it was stunning, as though the planet itself was a stained glass cathedral, the largest shrine to any god. But the probability, the exact conditions that must have been present for such a thing to occur, its statistical unlikelihood? Such a view, in millions of other timelines, where one specific detail did not occur exactly as it did here, would not exist. The beauty of it was not only in its aesthetic but in its existence at all. For the universe in all its immensity and unpredictability to have lined up on an atomical scale to create this.

“And the noise?” he whispered. Nyota barely heard him.

“Piezoelectricity. A property of all quartz. When a mechanical force, such as the pressure from our boot soles or the rapping of our knuckles, is applied to quartz, it converts that mechanical energy into electricity, causing it to vibrate at a precise frequency. Different notes can be made depending on the sample’s size and shape.”

Spock opened his mouth to say something, but Jim’s laugh beat him to it. He had looked up from the ground beneath him, back towards Nyota and Spock. The joy painted on his face, lit by the sun’s reflection on the glass, was breathtaking.

“It sings!” Jim was still laughing, beaming at the two of them, and Spock’s brain was doing a very poor job at its function of making his body remember to breathe. “When you start thinking you’ve seen everything, you find a planet that sings. It’s spectacular!”

“It is…extraordinary, yes.”

McCoy stopped tapping, his last note ringing in the air and hovering over them.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve heard you use an adjective other than fascinating, Spock.”

Spock blanched, quickly shifting his gaze away from Jim. 

“I… I do not believe that is accurate Doctor, I…” Spock couldn’t seem to come up with an excuse, drawing up blank after blank as he wracked his mind. A strange silence fell over them all, with even Scotty’s tap dancing quieting. It was unlike Spock to be lost for words. Eventually, Pike coughed, and distracted from his own observations, cleared his throat.

“Alright, well, we should probably get moving. Jim’s right, no matter what we’ll never see everything, so who knows how this night will manage to go wrong. With Starfleet, all I know is that it will somehow. Let’s just hope it’s just one of us spilling a drink on an official or something and not the apocalypse.” 

They all winced, remembering their last mission.

“Regardless,” Pike continued, “Two of their High Priestesses are meeting us outside of the capital gates in twenty, so let’s move out.”

Gathering their things, they set off, the sounds of their footsteps ringing out behind them.

 

“Ah! The Starfleet representatives! How wonderful to meet you all!” There were two Daeamians who greeted them outside the massive crystal gates of the capital city, one masculine and one feminine in appearance. The feminine one clapped joyfully when they came into view, her face lighting up. Wispy hair blew behind her, although hair was a strong word. The Daeamians were humanoid, but parts of them were more gaseous than solid, soft features accentuated by the appearance of rapidly moving fog that seemed to trace the contours of their bodies. The masculine figure accompanying her seemed to be more active in this feature, small pools and streams forming as the gas flowed over his skin. The constant movement of this strange layer of their form, along with the blue tint to their skin, reminded Spock of storms on Neptune. 

“We of the Church of Atvis, as well as all of Daeama, are very happy for your arrival to celebrate the Festival of Lavidei! My name is Ohali and I am incredibly excited to…” The woman, Ohali, trailed off for just a moment, her smile faltering as she overlooked their group and her eyes landed on Jim. This lasted for only a second, barely giving the crew time to worry before her smile returned even more brilliantly than before. “Oh how lovely, you have brought a Cherished One with you! I was not told one was scheduled, but truthfully I am not one to keep up with such things. This will make this year’s Festival even more special! If you care to follow, Heichal and I will guide you to the temple to meet with Lady Dvash!”

Spock was slightly overwhelmed by how often her sentences ended in high notes, but Pike was not about to let the strange comment pass, even as Heichal turned to gesture upwards for two guards stationed atop the large wall to raise the gates. 

“Excuse me, ah, miss, but what do you mean Cherished One?”

Ohali turned to him, giggling slightly, small swirling circles appearing on her cheeks.

“Oh, just Ohali is fine, Captain. We do not use such concepts on Daeama, other than for the Lady. We understand however that humans prefer such things, so if you need to address Heichal and me with such terms, Priestess will be fine for those of us in the church.”

“Understood, Ohali.” Pike smiled, “But I believe the question still stands.”

“Oh yes, that is nothing to worry about,” Ohali waved nonchalantly, even as the crystal gates behind her began to rise, light flooding through and the bustle of music and movement growing louder. Heichal rejoined her at her side. “It is, in fact, a rather prestigious compliment. I have only met two souls who have earned the title in my lifetime. Although I believe it will be easier for the Lady herself to explain. In the meantime, Heichal and I can answer your questions about the festivals and Daeama, as well as the capital itself. We are excellent tour guides, are we not, Heichal?”

Heichal smiled, the first expression she had shown so far. “Yes, I believe so.”

Ohali smiled, “A ringing endorsement, see? Nothing to fear, Captain. And as for all of you...” She gestured, as the crystal gate finally pulled up enough to reveal the city behind it, a terraced maze of beautiful white buildings, flowers and trees blooming along the streets and on top of the colored roofs, the road in front of them lined with flags and decorations as hundreds of Daeamans in colorful garments moved about the streets, filling the air with the sound of voices and music. 

“Welcome to the city of Leon!”

 

***

 

“Daeama is a rarity among Federation planets, in that its population is relatively small, and we all inhabit a single area, the city of Leon,” Ohali explained as she guided them through the crowd. Spock had to tuck his arms in to avoid bumping into passersby in the crowded streets, the city alive with festival preparations. “It is relatively impossible for life to sustain itself outside of the city, with no ground for food to grow, but for some reason, this spot was saved from the glassing during the Great Storm. Life flourished here, in the limited space of Leon, and from there, we just...” Ohali gestured at the towering city, layer after layer or buildings moving upward, stacked on top of each other. “Went up!”

Both Sulu and McCoy were fascinated, walking closest to Ohali, a considerable feat considering how quickly she was walking.

“None of these plants are crop-bearing though,” Hikaru gestured at the flowers lining the streets, “how do you sustain such a large population? Is there another section of the city that grows crops?”

Heichal surprised them by answering the question, her voice deep enough to cut through the noise of the street easily. “Even if we did have such a space it wouldn’t be nearly large enough. We were lacking in horizontal space, as Ohari said, but vertical space, that is limitless. A majority of the tallest buildings in the center of the city are farmland. Each floor of the buildings grows crops. We have tanks of aquatic species, and above those tanks, we grow the plants. The manure from the fish fertilize the crops and the crops help filter the tanks. It is a rather intuitive system after all is set up.”

Hikaru beamed at her.

“Aquaponics! That’s fascinating, would we be able to take a look at your facilities?”

Heichal chuckled. “Yes, I am sure that can be arranged.”

“And all this, preparation,” McCoy glanced around at the bustle surrounding them, people holding baskets of food, bells, feathers, and even stranger assortments of things. “This is for the Festival of Lavidei? Which celebrates, what exactly?”

Ohari piped in. “The Festival has been a tradition since the beginning of the Church of Atvis. The Daeaman solar orbit is much longer than that of Earth or Vulcan, and it began before the creation of Federation Standard Time. Once a solar year, the Daeamians celebrate the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night, with a festival! A common symbol of our deity, along with the lion, is the sun. The story goes that Atvis has been working very hard to keep the sun in the sky every day, and by the solstice, They are very tired. So, on the longest night, when They have reached Their lowest point, the people take to the streets to encourage Them! We make quite a bit of light and noise, fireworks, candles, music, and dancing, that sort of thing. The idea is that for one night, we Daeamians take up the call of bringing light to the world in Atvis’ stead, and when They wake up, and the sun begins to take to the sky with vigor again, we rest.”

“It’s a beautiful concept,” McCoy mused, more under his breath than to anyone.

“We are rather fond of beauty, us Daeamians,” Ohari giggled, smiling at him. Spock thought that, if the Doctor was a Daeamian himself, his face would be rather stormy right now. He coughed slightly, excusing himself, leaving Hikaru to ask the two priestesses more questions about plants and falling into step with Spock and Scotty.

“She’s nice, ain’t she?” Scotty asked, eyes focused on the crowd around them. 

“Yeah, I reckon,” McCoy mumbled.

“Blethers a bit though, for my taste.”

McCoy snorted. “Scotty, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you silent for more than a minute at a time.”

Scotty turned dramatically to Bones, feigning outrage, a hand flying to his chest.

“Me! I was quiet that whole time she was chatting, listened like a good tourist and everything. Look, over on your right, you’ll see flowers. And on your left, we’ve got some more flowers. Up ahead we got buildings full of fish, and, you’ll like this one folks, more flowers!”

McCoy snickered, his face returning to its original color. “Dumbass.”    

Despite the relative ease of McCoy, Scotty, and Hikaru, Spock couldn’t help but feel the tension emanating from the back half of their group. Jim, off-put by the strange title he seemed to have acquired, was lost in thought, seemingly trying to gauge what a name like ‘Cherished One’ could possibly mean in this context. But far graver were the expressions of Nyota and Pike, who both looked on the verge of being sick despite their best attempts to appear civil. While Spock was unsure of what they were walking into, he had a feeling that he was to learn more about the Selkie Incident in a more real-life applicable way than either the Captain or Uhura had intended. They remained silent for the entire walk through the city to a motorized walkway that led them winding through the upper levels of the city until it deposited them outside the doors of the second highest building in the terrace, a large white temple with a stained glass window that depicted the planet itself. 

“The Lady will be inside,” Ohari explained as she halted to one side of the doors to the temple. “We will still accompany you in her presence, but I would advise you to be respectful during your conversations with her. Lady Dvash has held her position for the past six hundred Standard years, and her reverence in the eyes of the Daeamians is not only immense but very well deserved. She has led our people very well.”

Jim blinked, seeming to only then return to the conversation.

“Wait, you said that you had only seen two cherished ones during your lifetime, right? How… how many years has that been?”

Ohari laughed, “Well, I am relatively young compared to other Daeamians, but in Standard years I believe I am nine hundred and thirty. Well, give or take a couple centennials, it is rather hard to keep track of.”

“Oh,” Jim finally managed to say.

“If it helps,” Heichal added, “in comparison to Human life cycles, she would have only recently reached adulthood.”

“Yeah, that helps,” Jim mumbled, his voice a little weak.

Ohari clapped her hands.

“Well, if you are impressed by that, I am sure you will enjoy the experience of meeting our Lady. Let’s press on!” And before any of the group could even begin to protest, she pushed open the doors to the temple, marching onwards into the dimly lit temple, Heichal close behind.

For a moment, Spock thought Jim would simply turn around and walk away, too uncertain of the future to continue forward. But this was Jim. He was brave, not because he did not feel fear, but because he did, and moved forward anyway. This, more than anything, made Spock unafraid. Because if Jim could be scared, and move forward, so could he. And so when Jim stepped through the cathedral doors, plunging into the darkness ahead, Spock followed him. As he always had. And as he always would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, my idea of the "fog" that covers the Daeamans is like a thin layer of this sort of thing over their skin.
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/142086517@N05/32263367567/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Photo creds to NASA, specifically the Juno mission!
> 
> The song the first part of this chapter (Spock's little introspection) was written to was Slack Jaw by Sylvan Esso. Lyrics Of Spock's Angsty Ass Include:
> 
> I got all the parts I wished for, I've got everything I need.  
> Sometimes I'm above water, but mostly I'm at sea.  
> Oh, slack-jawed me,  
> Can't you see?  
> There's so many rhythms and harmonies,  
> And I'm walking the dog back.  
> It's not like I got hurt or broken, or ruined on the way.  
> It's an ache and it shines through me, a swallow in a cage.  
> Is it a sign? Or just a landmine? Or a feeling roaming free?  
> It's overtaken me.  
> Gonna hold it 'til it dries up, or pocket it for another day  
> If it's me I cannot give up,  
> I'd rather that she stayed.


	22. You're The Breath That I Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE TO READERS: The Daeamians are a generally nonbinary species. The only ones who use conventionally gendered pronouns in Standard are the High Priestesses, simply because that’s how their own status-based pronoun translates best to Standard from their own language. The Lady is a title given to a Daeamian, much like King or Queen, or in this case a little closer to the concept of the Dalai Lama (very generally speaking: she is simply the spiritual leader of a people who has come into a recurring title). The Lady does not necessarily refer to gender, it’s simply in line with the translations to Standard from Daeamian.  
> As the Daeamians who are not part of the Church of Atvis are in this chapter and the next couple, I’m gonna use They/Them/Theirs for all of them.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter, as well as the next couple, contains the Star Trek trope of Aliens With Non-Human-Standard Perceptions Of Sex. Nothing NSFW happens in this chapter, it’s just a discussion of it, and I’m just telling y’all right now there’s not going to be any dub-con or non-con in any of my fics written ever. But there’s alien Sex Ed haha. The next chapters will further clarify the concept, and I promise it's all good in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, banging pots and pans together: “SPOCK IS DYSLEXIC AND YOU WILL NEVER HEAR ME FUCKING SHUT UP ABOUT IT FROM THIS DAY FORWARD THANKS!!”
> 
> Anyways, hi friends. So this is gonna officially begin my updates switching to biweekly instead of weekly. I keep trying to make it happen and I ASSURE you that this fic will keep getting written, but with working two jobs and Uni and just kinda life I realized that trying to get a chapter out every week was hurting this story rather than helping it. I’ve learned a lot from writing this, and a lot of how I need to grow as a writer, and I’m even more excited to continue to learn about all of that alongside you guys! From finally getting involved on the internet in the trekkie community (I’m learning so much, the next fic, so many character choices folks, Y'all best buckle up) to realizing that I was writing this fic just as much for you guys as I am for myself and your amazing feedback and support, I really can’t express how awesome this project has been for me. And I’m just super excited to keep moving forward with it, hopefully with you guys along with me!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this is kinda odd to say here but I thought I would. In light of recent incidents in my life (part of why this chapter is on the two-week schedule) I uh just wanted to give a little reminder to everyone to take care of LGBT+ people in their lives. If you’re an ally or a community member sometimes it’s easy to forget just how crazy shit can be. Whether it’s just daily struggles, or you’re going through something momentous, or even just know someone who is, I hope you guys take this as kinda a reminder that you are loved and appreciated and cared for. If any of you are going through stuff, LGBT+ or otherwise, you can feel free to talk to me about it! Either on here or on my Tumblr (greylunar), you should always feel free to reach out if you need something or just someone to talk to. You’re all so so important and brilliant and brave, and I hope you know that even if today sucked, or this week sucked, or this year or years sucked, that there’s some dork writing Star Trek fanfic somewhere who uh really appreciates you and you make him really happy. So yeah! I hope this reaches you well haha. Sorry for the length. 
> 
> Love,  
> Taliesin
> 
> ps: this arc of the fic is now gonna be 4+ chapters because holy buckets it just keeps getting bigger

_ For a moment, Spock thought Jim would simply turn around and walk away, too uncertain of the future to continue forward. But this was Jim. He was brave, not because he did not feel fear, but because he felt it and moved forward anyway. This, more than anything, made Spock unafraid.  _

_ If Jim could be scared and move forward, so could he. So when Jim stepped through the cathedral doors, plunging into the darkness ahead, Spock followed him. As he always had.  _

_ As he always would. _

 

______

  
  


The inside of the temple was slightly brighter than it had appeared from the outside looking in. The stained glass window projected a glimmering circle of Daeama on the floor, the colored light filling most of the room and projecting over the seated Lady. Even as Spock stepped into the temple with the others, he felt the shift in his crewmates, the collective intake of breath, for even stepping into the same room as the Lady felt… threatening. Not in the sense that trouble or danger would come from her, but in the most basic sense of the word. You felt, upon entering her presence, the overwhelming reality of where the power was held between you. Spock may not have had a faith, but the weight of her divinity was something he was unable to ignore. 

The Lady was sitting cross-legged on a small collection of pillows and rugs in the center of the temple. The frescos on the walls, barely lit by the room’s centralized lighting, and the pillars arching up in curves to the ceiling like a ribcage gave the impression that perhaps she wasn’t alive at all. That maybe she was simply a statue, a work of art from eons long past left in a church or a museum. If it wasn’t for the small slightly shifting fog layer over her skin, pulsating slightly, he would have been unable to guess that she was living. The colored light from the window faded her silhouette, making even her sharp features seem soft, and Spock thought of a time he had long since forgotten. A memory, flickering over the cathedral before him, of when his mother had taken him and Sybok as children to see the museum in Gol of Vulcan art preserved from before the Time of the Awakening. Sybok, of course, had loved all of it, and they had spent nine hours there before the staff were ready to close. While Sybok had spent his time at each of the exhibits, asking incessant questions of the historians there, the younger Spock had only wandered a few minutes before he had come to a statue, of a Vulcan woman with a veil over her face, looking up to the heavens as if praying. He could almost see her now. She had tears in her eyes, he remembered, polished to look as real as if rain had fallen on the statue just minutes ago. He had sat, staring, for hours, entranced by the ability the artist had to make stone look soft, sheer, wet. To make it look lonely.

He could almost see himself now. Cross-legged, staring up at her in a corner of the museum, trying to fathom how the sculptor had done it. The only logical conclusion for something that beautiful, he had thought, was that she was still alive. So he had sat. Not wanting her to be lonely, even for a few hours.

He still remembered what the piece had been called, even though he’d never seen it since.  _ The Widow, In the Mourning Light.  _ She had loved one of them, he had thought. One of the Gods he never knew. She still remembered what it was to love Them. She was still waiting all these years for Them to come home.

As he looked at the Lady, he saw The Widow almost layered over her, both like stone come to life. 

“ _ Dahyatek _ , travelers,” The Lady spoke, glancing up as they entered, the small shift solidifying her reality, but failing to detract from her elegance. Her voice was low, ringing not like bells or the glass crystal of the planet, but like a deep note that echoed slightly, like more than one voice was layered in her tone. “Welcome. We are grateful to have you with us for the Festival of Lavidei. It is always an honor when Star Fleet representatives are able to visit our city.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, my Lady,” Pike said, bowing his head. “We are grateful for the honor as well.”

The Lady nodded, smiling slightly. “You have brought another honor with you as well, although it appears you were not aware.  _ Dahyatek _ James Kirk, I apologize for the confusion and worry my priestesses may have caused.”

Spock could see Jim trying not to fidget as the Lady’s gaze turned to him. He bowed as well, deeper than Pike, and for some reason that irked Spock, who could not help but feel that Jim should not be bowing to anyone. But Jim seemed rather awed by Lady Dvash. Or at least, Spock assumed that was what his expression was.

“It’s alright, ah, Lady, as long as somewhere in this conversation we clear this up.”

The Lady laughed, a strange tinkling sound and again, Spock had a strange impression that she had more than one voice. It was almost like a choir, harmonizing so near to perfect that it was  _ nearly  _ one, but just off enough to be unfamiliar and disconcerting.

“I assure you that that will happen, James Kirk, and I will, in fact, answer any and all questions that any of you have. I am afraid you will have many, but I hope that we can breach the gaps in our understandings. I will ask that you allow me to tell you a little about Daeamian culture before we begin, however, so that you may better understand the context of your situation.”

Jim nodded. The Lady smiled. 

“Wonderful. Now, the majority of you are unfamiliar with the Church of Atvis, yes?”

Everyone assented except Uhura, who the Lady beamed at.

“Well, Nyota, if I frame anything in a way that does not make sense to human cultures, please let me know.”

Nyota dipped her head, and despite her initial wariness, she seemed more at ease now, having met the Lady.

“Well,” Lady Dvash continued, “The Church of Atvis is a faith unique to the Daeamians. In a sense, it very clearly must be. Like the Vulcans, we Daeamians are what could be called empaths. We have a natural ability to detect the emotions of other beings we encounter. Unlike Vulcans, who for the most part rely on the sense of touch,” her eyes flicked to Spock, and his breath stuttered. He felt... _ seen _ . He could not describe it using any other word. She looked at him as if she had read his story in its entirety and was still deciding if she liked its ending. It was not unkind, necessarily, but it was knowing. And Spock was unsure if he liked being known. “Daeamians are much more auditory creatures.”

“This includes things as obvious as a being’s voice. When you speak, your voice fluctuates when you are experiencing certain emotions, and we are not only attuned to hearing those changed more easily than other species but we- well, we feel them.”

“And the less obvious things?” Scotty asked, keeping his voice determinedly even.

The Lady smiled.

“Your heartbeat is rather loud, Scotty.”

Scotty clamped his mouth shut as if that would dull the sound.

“I do not mean to frighten you, Scotty, or any of your companions for that matter. But, this is a fact that you should know while on this planet. It will also help in understanding the rest of this story. Long ago, before the first Lady heard Atvis sing, the planet of Daeama was very different than you see now. We were wracked with war, with crime, with hatred. To live always knowing when someone was lying to you, how they really felt, well-- you can see how it may cause some problems. But the first Lady, she gave us the word of AtvisIn time, we were able to learn it and better ourselves. To save our people.”

Her eyes fell back on Spock, and he couldn’t help but stare back at her. What he had seen on Daeaman had reminded him nothing of Post-reform Vulcan. There was joy here. Everywhere.

Atvis must have been a different type of teacher than Surak.

“The Lady passed on the teachings that would one day become the Church itself. We do not worship Atvis in any sense, other than regarding Them as a truly wonderful teacher who happens to have been a divine being. Instead, we worship life itself. The way we live is beautiful. We make a great many mistakes, as any living creature does, but we believe that we do ourselves a disservice in blaming ourselves for how we feel. Atvis teaches that life, in all its wildness and messiness, should be cherished. Should be loved. Daeamians believe that the greatest thing you can do is whatever brings you joy. We were not put in this world to be ashamed, or to be perfect. Instead, we were simply put here to live. All aspects of every life are holy.” Her eyes landed on each of them in turn. She looked at them in the way one looks at the most beautiful person they have ever seen before. She lingered on Spock, and for a moment his stomach ached with a feeling he couldn’t name or understand but was something vaguely shaped like guilt. It was heavy and reminded him of rocks in his pockets back on Vulcan. He did not know how to be looked like that. Or at least, he didn’t anymore. “Hatred is as valuable as love, success as valuable as failure. Does that make sense?”

This time, no one nodded, all in different stages of processing that information. The Lady looked... sad, despite her supportive smile. Like it hurt her, not that they did not believe but more that they could not comprehend. Her face didn’t change even as Bones finally started laughing, a broken sound that Spock did not need auditory empathy to hear the bitterness in.

“So...what? Y'all are just happy all the fucking time? And listening to whatever the fuck we think no matter what we do?”

“McCoy-” Pike snapped, his own voice frayed along the edges, but the Lady calmly held up her hand.

“It’s quite alright, Captain. You need not stop him from sharing. No, Doctor McCoy, we are not happy all the time. It is more common, I would not have to stretch to say, for Daeamians to be happy more often than some species, as our mentality is much different and more accepting than others. But no, we are not happy all the time, and we do not expect you to be. 

“While we believe that finding joy in one’s life is the highest expression of worship, we do not always succeed. That would be impossible. Instead, we simply encourage allowing oneself to be joyful, and to seek out joy. I hope that, while here, you may allow yourself to do the same.”

Bones made a sound that sounded more like choking than assent, and the Lady’s voice was gentler when she continued. “I am afraid I can do very little for your privacy while on Daeama, but I assure you that the population will be as respectful as possible during the festivities. We are used to having visitors to the planet, and every effort will be made to make sure that you enjoy yourself and leave Daeama feeling at ease with what has transpired here.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling real at ease already. Great job all around,” Bones muttered, but the Lady only smiled at him, her shoulders falling slightly, like something wilting.

“You can consider it a scientific observation if you would like, Doctor. A case study in emotion.”

McCoy huffed, turning to Spock. “Don’t you have any comments on this? As far as I can tell this entire place is like the Anti-Vulcan.”

Spock kept his face composed, if not for the Lady, at least for the Humans. He could feel his irregular heartbeat. The surge of numbers pressing against the barrier between his impulsive and rational brain. He must have been screaming, to the Lady. But if she heard all that, she would know why she said what he did. “While I am not emotional myself, I have no qualms with others expressing their own emotions. I…” Spock faltered slightly, as Jim turned to look at him. His face was puzzled. Every part of him seemed to be asking a question Spock could not hear. He wondered, briefly, what Jim’s heartbeat might be saying. For the first time in a while, he wished he could hear it. “I… think it may be an interesting experience. After all, we are only here for one night and are in no observable danger. It may simply be an opportunity for the crew to take part in the festivities.”

Bones, obviously uncomfortable, opened his mouth to say something, but Jim put a hand on his shoulder, quietly cutting him off.

“Pardon me, Lady Dvash, but we still haven’t clarified this whole uh, Cherished One business, and I’d like to before my friend here gets on your bad side.”

The Lady just chuckled.

“Oh, I doubt that would happen. Your friend is rather exceptional. I would never make judgment on someone who has felt so much.” The shift was barely noticeable, as Bones went a little more rigid and Scotty’s weight shifted, grounding into his heels as if getting ready for a fight. Even Jim tensed up slightly, despite obviously working to retain his composure. The Lady bowed her head, a few seconds of wordless apology, her tone more measured as she continued on.

“The title of Cherished One is reserved for a select few, James Kirk. It is used to describe beings who are exceptionally emotionally attuned.”

Jim frowned. “But I’m not an empath, or a telepath, or anything like that. I have no idea what other people are feeling. Or at least no more than any other human.”

Lady Dvash smiled softly at him.

“I am afraid I may not have been entirely clear. A Cherished One is a being who feels more deeply than others. Daeamians use terms that do not have the same connotations as Humans, but the colloquial term is being loud.”

If Uhura snickered slightly, the rest of them chose to ignore it.

“You are a remarkable man, James Kirk. You feel everything so deeply, your love, your hatred, your loss. Many see this as a weakness, but they do not see the beauty in such things. Here, they are celebrated. They are cherished. And you, too, are Cherished here.”  
Jim’s shoulders slumped in, like the weight of that was too much for him to even hear. But before he could respond, Hikaru looked up at the Lady. He had been quiet until now, something he often fell back on when collecting information.

“You said that such a title was reserved for a select few, my Lady. Does Captain Emerett Selkie draw anything to mind?”

Uhura and Pike both whipped around to face Hikaru, who simply shrugged.

“There’s signal on the shuttle. We have access to logs. It wasn’t hard.”

Lady Dvash seemed to find it all rather humorous.

“Yes, Sulu, I believe he does. I was still the Lady at the time when he arrived on planet. You’re very clever to make such a connection.”  
“Alright, what’s the whole deal with this Incident you all keep blabbering on about, then?” Scotty grumbled, and Spock could see his eyes already flickering from wall to wall, gauging the quickest exit paths. Jim, on the other hand, was still blinking, as if doing calculations in his head to understand what exactly was transpiring.

Although, perhaps that was simply Spock projecting. He didn’t know what Jim’s head was like anymore. A singing planet, and he was still focused on the quiet.

Instead of answering Scotty herself, the Lady turned to Uhura. Nyota took a deep breath, steeling herself, restacking her spine. Spock had helped her prepare for exams, had watched her on missions, had seen her walk into hellscapes of planets. She seemed more scared now.

“In 2187, a Starfleet captain named Emerett Selkie landed on Daeama with a landing crew of four. The reports say his coming was prophesied by the Daeamians, but you know those early reports, half of them are just colonialist hogwash. What can be confirmed is that Selkie was asked to be a part of a ceremony. Something called the Night of the Cherished.”

Lady Dvash actually snorted.

“Oh goodness, is that what they translated it to? Humans are so quaint sometimes.” She cleared her throat, gauging the atmosphere of the room. “My apologies, that was likely very rude. I... forget myself. Nyota is correct in how Starfleet reported the situation, although that in itself may not be the correct report of the situation, if you understand my meaning. We do have a ceremony if you can even call it such, that we offer to those of the Cherished name. It is called _ Ashavirr el Yalev,  _ and as you might have realized, does not mean anything remotely near the Night of the Cherished, although I applaud their romantic nature. No, it means something more akin to The Charging.”

Nyota’s curiosity was tangible, even as Jim seemed to sink lower into himself.

“The Charging, my Lady?”

“Yes, young one. You may have heard the stories of a creature that lives beneath the glass shell of Daeama?”

Bones made a small sound that even Spock could translate to “ _ Nope, nope! I’m out.”  _

“Do not worry, Doctor, it is not at all as sinister as your interpretation. The story is that Atvis Themselves is at the heart of Daeama and that that is how the first Lady heard their teachings.”

“They sang to her. The planet sang.” Jim’s voice sounded far away, as though he was listening to the melody himself all those years ago.

“Yes,” the Lady whispered, her voice gentle. “It is a tradition for the Cherished Ones who find their way to Daeama, to offer an expression of their life to Atvis, so that They may continue to sing and spread the sound of joy.”

“An expression of their life?” Scotty had stepped off the defensive long enough to be confused. “Now what exactly does that mean?”

Nyota coughed. “The Cherished One would, ah, pay tribute by engaging in activities associated with creating life.”

Scotty blinked. “They’d what?”

“Intercourse, Scotty,” Uhura sighed. 

“Oh, right. That. Not gonna lie? I still forget you folks are all about that sometimes.” Scotty seemed to be put at ease by this, but Pike and Bones had immediately stiffened. 

Spock on the other hand, would not be surprised if the Daeamians could no longer read any emotion off him at all. He was fairly certain his heart had flatlined.

“Now, Lady Dvash, you’ve gotta understand we mean no disrespect, despite the evidence already put forth by my crew here,” Pike stammered, “but that isn’t something that you can just ask of Lieutenant Commander Kirk. It’s- there are regulations.”

Lady Dvash held up a hand, completely composed. “Of course Captain, and I do not want you or your crew to misunderstand. As I said, it is a completely optional ceremony. We understand the need for consent among all species. I am not asking for Kirk to engage in such things against his will. All I ask is that at some point this evening, he would join a high priestess of the temple for education on its meaning, and then make his decision. I believe it will be rather enlightening as to our beliefs.”

Pike opened his mouth, but Bones beat him to it.

“Enlightening huh? Interesting kind of education.”

The Lady seemed very close to rolling her eyes, but her tone was still kind.

“A historical context to our religion, Doctor McCoy. I believe the human term would be ‘very PG.’”

Pike took a deep breath. “Could we, uh, be excused for just a moment Lady Dvash?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Pike drew them over to the corner, Spock registering him fidgeting slightly even though he could barely focus on anything except for a sudden fascination with a peeling section of plaster on the Temple wall. He wondered how many layers of watercolor, one on top of the other, it had taken to obtain that pigment. To soak in until it became part of the wall itself. It seemed like a wonderful concept at the moment. To be a wall. Perhaps not this wall. Maybe just unconscious. Although, this wall would not have any consciousness to register that he did not want to be it, so perhaps-

“Lieutenant Spock!” Pike huffed as Spock managed to focus long enough to look him in the eyes, “Christ, are they just recruiting ensigns based on how little professionalism you guys have?”

“No,” Uhura murmured, “but I have enough evidence to suggest a high inverse correlation on those who pass the leadership test and those who could be described as passive.”

“Lucky us. Jesus Christ, I hope I die out here and don’t have to retire as a professor.”

“Admittedly, Captain, you would be very successful in such a position,” Hikaru mumbled.

“Either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain, Sulu. Alright, listen up. You too, Kirk, ground control to Major Tom, come on.” It seemed Jim himself was as distracted as Spock, but he managed to look up and focus on Pike. He pulled them into a football-like huddle, arms steady despite his tone quickly spiraling from the captain voice he usually assumed.

“I am prepared to say fuck it to this whole thing, get back on the shuttle and leave if you guys aren’t okay with this. And I’m not saying the whole Chosen One or Cherished or whatever stuff, I’m saying if you guys don’t even want to be on this planet we will turn around right now and I’ll call Federation Command and say they can go fuck themselves, okay? But this- this isn’t my call. I am not, Jesus, I’m not calling this for you. This is about what you guys are comfortable with. From what I can tell, we are still perfectly capable of leaving here after eating some good food and getting coworker-appropriate levels of tipsy and going home. Kirk, you don’t even have to look at a high priestess if you don’t want to. And I am just like, vetoing all that other shit right now, regardless. But if it’s too much even being here, we can turn around right now. This is our mission, but the emphasis on that is  _ ours  _ right now, not mission, okay? So it’s up to you guys.”

A few beats of silence passed. And then, wordlessly, they all turned to Jim.

“Sorta thought that speech was leading up to a group call,” Jim murmured, the joking confidence in his tone making his voice sound even weaker.

“I hate this place, for the record,” McCoy grumbled, clapping a hand on Jim’s shoulder, a quiet show of support despite his tone. “But I hate most places we go to. This is your call, buddy. No one else’s.”

Spock had stopped looking at the wall and instead couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jim. Jim, who across the circle, was staring back at him.  _ I want to go home,  _ Spock thought.  _ Please, Jim, let’s go home.  _ He did not remember when he had started thinking of the Enterprise as such. But there was no logical reason for him to request such a thing. To ask the others, to ask Jim to leave, it would unravel everything he had put together. Because they would ask why. And all he would have to say would be  _ I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home. _

_ I want. _

But he knew, now more than ever, that Jim couldn’t hear him.

McCoy was right. It was up to Jim. To say something, anything, would be too much.

 

They waited in silence as Jim thought. After a few seconds, it was obvious that he had made his decision, and was just building up the resolve to say it.

The Lady was right, in a way, Spock thought. Jim felt so much, about every little thing. It was just their luck that Quitting was so high on the list.

“No,” Jim finally whispered, the word heaving out of him. “I want to stay. Finish the mission, at least. We can deal with the other stuff later.”

Pike looked less than thrilled that ‘dealing with other stuff later’ was even on the table, but the  mission-centric mentality seemed to ground him further back into ‘Starfleet Captain’ instead of ‘aggressively supportive dad.’ 

“Alright. Then that’s the call. We finish the mission and then leave. Got it?”

They all mumbled assent, Spock just mutely nodding, still on autopilot.

“We all know they definitely heard all that, right?” Hikaru added, still whispering regardless. “Like, just to be clear. They can hear our heartbeats and we moved, like, ten feet to the left.”

“Excellent observation Lieutenant Sulu, but please let me have this one,” Pike mumbled.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Alright!” Pike turned back to the Lady, all smiles. “We have decided that that’s alright in our book, at least for now. Now, we heard there was some sort of party.”

 

*****

 

If Spock learned one thing from Daeama, it was that festivals were not as fun as they sounded. 

He sipped a small cup of liquid he had managed to confirm was water, watching everything unfold around him. It was beautiful, he was not denying that. The massive hall that nearly all of the City of Leon seemed to fit into was stunning, massive crystal tables in rows under unfathomably tall ceilings, lights and flowers hung in falling waves from the ceiling. The Daeamians themselves had ribbons, feathers, and flowers tied around and adorning their arms and clothing, streams and spots of color shockingly beautiful on the backdrop of blue. The gentle ringing of bells was nearly constant, tied around waists as belts, around ankles and wrists as bangles, as the crowd danced merrily in a beautiful style that Spock could barely keep track of.

It was beautiful and joyous, colorful and chaotic.

Spock had the worst headache of his entire life, and he very very much wanted to beam back up to the Enterprise and sleep in his quarters for the next week.

As it was, the only other people at the long horizontal head table with him were a few high priestesses and Pike. They had barely been at the party twenty minutes before the others had begun making excuses, fading into the crowd, or simply disappearing altogether. Spock had looked over one minute and seen Jim, and then the next he was gone. He was trying very very hard not to think about it. Pike, on the other hand, was projecting nervousness so aggressively that the Daeamians next to him were all giving him worried glances that he seemed incapable of noticing. At one point, his leg bouncing became so intense that he bucked his knee up into the crystal table, sending a shrill note that easily mixed into the cacophony around them and swearing under his breath.

Spock tried very hard not to raise an eyebrow. He finished his water. That left him without any excuse for silence that humans considered valid, so he turned to Pike.

“Captain, may I ask a personal question?”

Pike blinked. 

“Of course Spock.”

Spock fumbled in his brain for how he wanted to start this.

“When you are nervous, or simply when you are unoccupied, you often result to this behavior,” Spock gestured at his leg. “Lieutenant Commander Kirk also engages in such activity, for as long-” his tongue seems suddenly heavy, and he switched gears. “I am just perplexed. I cannot see what purpose it serves.”

Pike snorted, his leg steadying slightly, albeit not completely. 

“I mean, purpose is a strong word I guess. But it helps me keep moving. One day, I’ll be old enough and put together enough to be a cool Admiral with that 007 composure, but it definitely ain’t today or yet.”

“Double-Oh-Seven, sir?”

“He’s, uh, he’s a… spy.”

Spock frowned. “I was unaware that spies were desirable as role models.”

“No, he’s uh, from movies? And books. He’s a special agent for British Intelligence, or, I guess a designation for a lot of special agents. Idris Elba was my favorite from the oldies. Although Talrog Rhmara gave him a run for his money, like, none of us were really expecting a Tellarite casting and he killed it.”

“I am afraid I do not follow, Captain.”

Pike chuckled, “Yeah, that’s on me though. I’m just rambling now.”

They sat in silence until Pike finally spoke again.

“You know, I was the one who finally took Jim to get diagnosed.”

Spock couldn’t help but turn to face him, all thoughts of getting up to get more water suddenly leaving his mind.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Pike continued, “the kid was totally killing it off medication. Outsmarted me half the time, and he was what, twelve? But it wasn’t really hard for me to tell, you know? The kid could have worn a sign that said Attention Deficit on his chest and it probably would have been more subtle. Took me months to finally convince him to let me take him to get tested. Thought he’d up and leave at one point, although I guess I always kinda thought that.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Spock registered hearing the words more than saying them. “Did Jim live with you?”

Pike nodded, a small smile coming over his face.

“Yeah, for a little bit. After the whole trial thing with Frank, they tried to put him in a couple of foster homes, and well, you knew him. Bet you can imagine how much he liked that. Eventually, I caught wind of it, brought him back to Mojave with me.”

Spock could feel his voice shaking, even as he steadied his hands on the crystal table.

“How… how was that?”

If Pike noticed anything strange about his speech, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he snickered.

“Rough at first. I mean, kinda rough the whole time. Going from living alone and eating easy mac every day to trying to you know…” Pike seemed to fumble with the word, sighing. “Parent. It was a lot. Don’t think I did a great job. I mean, I hope I did. I just. Probably didn’t.”

“You did,” Spock says it without thinking, but with absolute confidence. Pike seems to snap out of his revery at that, turning to look at Spock. For the first time, Spock thinks he sees that 007 Admiral. Pike’s body stills, and he, for the first time Spock can recall, looks proud. It only lasts a few seconds. Then Pike takes a sip of his drink.

“I hope so. I really hope so. Didn’t really matter in the end, though.”

Pike tipped back the rest of his drink. Spock thought perhaps it went down easier for him than the water did for Spock.

“He still went, in the end.”

Pike doesn’t say where. But he doesn’t have to. Spock can still see the picture the newscasters put up. Fifteen-year-old Jim, rain-soaked and dead-eyed. Tarsus IV. Spock wonders what happened. Why it happened. But Pike looks lost, and Spock can’t bring himself to ask anything of him. He wonders what Pike would have been like if he hadn’t met them. The wondering hurts.

He wants more water. But Pike doesn’t move, so neither does he. Spock feels he owes him that much.

“He liked the horses though,” Pike mutters. “Took a while to teach him, cause he was always hiding somewhere on the ranch. But when I finally did he liked them.”

They sit in silence holding their empty cups. Spock doesn’t have to meld with Pike to know they’re picturing the same thing. He just wishes he had really been there to see it, Jim laughing as he kicked up dust on some mustang he would have picked out because he thought they sounded the coolest. Spock could almost hear him say it.  _ It’s almost as cool as the car. If you close your eyes and ignore the bumping, I mean. _

Eventually, a priestess comes up to them and asks if Pike could accompany her to some bureaucratic meeting. Spock offers to go with him, but Pike waves him off.

“Go find some of the others, be the voice of reason. We’ve left them for too long. Who knows what they’ve gotten into.”

Spock doesn’t know. And that’s what scares him. But he goes anyways. 

 

*****

 

He finds Scotty first, perched on a mostly abandoned side table, drink untouched beside him. He’s got his communicator out, and as Spock makes his way through the crowd toward him he watches as Scotty pulls it apart, piece by piece, lays the fragments on the table next to him, pauses, and then begins putting them back together. By the time Spock finally manages to reach him amid all the dancing, he’s already beginning to pull it apart again, laying the outer casing on the table. 

Spock dips his head in ways of greeting, Scotty nodding back.

“Mister Spock,” he mumbles, still focused on his comm device. 

Spock sits on the bench next to him, careful to give enough room so Scotty can lay out his parts.

“I am surprised, Mister Scott, that you are not partaking in the festivities.”

“Left my dancing shoes at home, you know how it goes,” Scotty blew on a small a small speaker piece, wiping it off on his kilt. Pausing, he then wiped off his kilt. Spock was uneducated as to it’s significance, but he knew Scotty took immense pride in it. The pattern represented a specific lineage if Spock recalled correctly. It was odd to him, being so vocal about where you come from, your family. It was very Human. But still, it mattered to Scotty. And so it mattered to Spock. 

Scotty sighed, putting the piece down on the table next to him again. “What about you, aye? Seemed to be much more party oriented the last time you were out.”

Spock frowned. “I am afraid I do not know what you refer to.”

“You know, when Bones and I had to help Jim get your drunk ass on his motorbike after the launch party? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone that sloshed before.” Apparently, this next piece needed polishing. Scotty opted for a napkin after thoroughly inspecting its quality. “I mean, nah that’s a lie, I’ve definitely seen someone that hammered, probably been that hammered, just not in a while. And never a Vulcan, though I suppose I’ve got a rather limited data pool, you know?”

Spock took a break from being horrified by the realization that Scotty had been there that night to be horrified by another realization. 

“You… you would get along with my brother very well, I believe.”

Scotty blinked. “You have a brother?”

“Yes. His name is Sybok.”

“We’ve been on a ship together for two months and you’ve never thought to mention that?”

“It never came up,” Spock felt his lips quirk at Scotty’s incredulous stare. “Vulcans are traditionally a much more private race than Humans, Mister Scott. My brother being an exception. He once announced to college interview board that he thought they were all misogynist cowards and that he did not care to be a part of their institution. He had scheduled the interview.”

Scotty whistled. “What university was it?”

“Harvard. They were failing to address some major issues on campus. And also failing to acknowledge the existence of their female students.”

Scotty grinned. “Alright, yeah we’d be friends. Guess that’s where you get it from, huh?”

“Where I get what, Mister Scott?”

“You know,” Scotty gestured vaguely, the communicator momentarily forgotten. “That little bit of spunk you got in ya. Doesn’t come out a whole lot, but I’ve seen it. You’re a cheeky shit when you want to be.”

Spock stared at him. He had not been aware that he was a ‘cheeky shit’ when he wanted to be. He did not remember wanting to be. But nevertheless, he added it to the running list of things he had learned about who he was since the destruction of Vulcan. He thought, that if it made Scotty like him, it must be alright.

“Your brother end up in Starfleet too?”

“No, that was never a goal of his,” Spock mumbled, leaving out how it had never been a goal of  _ his  _ either. “He is a psychologist. He travels, with his wife. Offering aid to inhabitants of other planets. She’s a lawyer, who specializes in cases regarding oppression and social injustice on planets throughout the galaxy.”

Scotty winced. “That’s like, painfully noble, goddamn.”

Spock couldn’t help the smile that came across his face. “He is, a strange character no doubt, but yes. He is very noble. They both are.”

Scotty put the communicator down and glanced at Spock.

“Why’d you do it? Join Starfleet I mean. Not that I don’t think you’re a good fit for it or doubt that you’re bloody brilliant, it’s just. You’ve never said. Thought I’d ask. In case it never comes up.” He smiled at Spock, but his joking nature still seemed a little faded.

Spock paused. Scotty was his friend. He was sure of that. But he wasn’t sure if he could put it in words for himself, much less for someone else. Uhura maybe, Hikaru certainly, but… Scotty had always been Jim’s friend first. He cared for Scotty. He could recognize that much. It was just more frightening than he had anticipated. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, and if his breathing was still a little rattled Scotty didn’t comment.

“I… I submitted my refusal to attend the Vulcan Science Academy, after an incident regarding their behavior towards my mother, who is human. I was unsure of a course of action from that point. Consciously, I did not register having a reason to enroll in Starfleet. But I believe, looking back on it, that I wanted to be a part of something, something that I no longer had.”

Scotty was looking at him like Spock had suddenly spoken for the first time since he met him. Spock resisted the urge to excuse himself, or simply get up and walk away. But finally, Scotty spoke, a grin spreading across his face.

“See? Spunky. What’d I tell you? Did you hand it to the Academy assholes then?”

“I… yes I believe so. They were concerned about their image if a half human rejected a spot at the academy, as they considered such beings inferior. They emplored me to stay, citing that no  _ true _ Vulcan had ever declined admission.”

Scotty stared at him wide-eyed. “Shit, what did you say to that?”

Spock let his eyebrow raise, his lips quirk. “That they were correct. I would be the first.”

Scotty’s laughter rang louder than the bells surrounding them, and twice as joyously.

“See? Cheeky little shit.”

  
  


****

 

He found Hikaru, of course, by the plants. Spock had drifted off after a few more minutes with Scotty in order to look for the others, out of the festival hall and further into the maze of buildings that made up the center of the City of Leon. The third he had stumbled upon was a conservatory, utterly empty except for Hikaru, crouched down and talking to a flower. He glanced up as Spock pushed open the massive glass door at the entry.

“My apologies,” Spock murmured, bowing his head. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

Hikaru smiled at him, chuckling.

“Don’t worry, we weren’t talking about you.” He glanced around at the room they were in, small flowering plants dotted among massive arching trees that seemed to shield them from the light of the sky above. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? It’s so rare we go to places and get to just… see.”

Spock nodded. He wandered for a bit, taking in the room and its floral inhabitants until he circled back to Hikaru, quietly sitting next to him, crosslegged.

They sat in silence. Hikaru knew, more than any human Spock had met, the value of companionable silence. The first year of their friendship had been entirely rooted in mutually reading on their dorm room beds, Hikaru leaving the door unlocked for Spock when he needed a long walk in the middle of the night, and the fact that both Spock and Hikaru’s plants preferred the dorm room warmer than standard temperatures. Spock remembered that when he had first asked Hikaru to join him on one of those walks, he had simply blinked, marked his page, and put on a jacket. They wandered the campus for nearly two hours, and when they finally turned back homeward, it seemed like a mutual decision.

That night had been the first in years Spock registered truly having a friend.

But today, Hikaru spoke. Admittedly, Spock felt like he was thinking so loudly that he counted as breaking the silence first.

“Do you want a prompting question, or would you rather just talk?” Hikaru didn’t look up, still inspecting the nearby specimens and drawing them on his PADD.

“I believe that counts as a prompting question, Hikaru.”

“So you want one then.” He must have caught Spock’s nod out of the corner of his eye, or perhaps he just knew he was right. “This place, it bothers you. Why?”  
“It is…” Spock exhaled. “It is fundamentally different than what I was raised to believe. I believe that would make anyone uncomfortable.”

Hikaru adjusted his pen, darkening the line of a petal’s curve. His art, as always, was frighteningly delicate. Spock was always irrationally worried he would drop the PADD, not because it would break the device, but worried the drawing itself might shatter.

“The Enterprise is different. We are all nearly aggressively emotional. Why here, specifically?”

“I… I am concerned for Lieutenant Commander Kirk.”

“That’s completely understandable. And it’s okay. You’re allowed to be concerned, Spock.” Spock felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little. It was strange, how even after a thousand times, Hikaru’s permission always made it easier. “If it helps, I am confident he will be alright. Kirk may be… foolish at times but has never been stupid. There is a very big difference. He can take care of himself.”

Spock nodded, a bit jerkily even to him.

“You are worried anyways?” Hikaru attempted to make it sound a question, but it came out as a statement regardless.

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Spock could feel his tongue growing heavier, the words becoming harder to make the more he thought about saying them. Minutes passed, Hikaru simply continuing with his drawing, picking shades. Giving him time.

“The Charging ceremony concerns me,” Spock finally managed to say, each word its own sentence. 

“Because you’re worried he’ll do something he doesn’t want to?”

“Because… I am worried he’ll do something he will.”

There was a fraction of a second when Hikaru’s stylus paused in its movement. And then it continued.

“You knew him? Didn’t you. Before Starfleet.”

“Yes. I did.”

Hikaru nodded. There was no “Why didn’t you tell me,” no “and what happened?” Hikaru wouldn’t ask such things. Spock felt he deserved the answers to them regardless.

“We grew up together. My father’s work took my family to Earth. I spent six years there.” Six seemed like such a small number now he said it aloud. Only six? Was all of this really about  _ six years _ ? It seemed so painfully insignificant.  _ You are allowed to care,  _ he whispered mentally to himself.  _ You’re allowed.  _ “I… met Kirk then. As children. I do not often speak about it to anyone. In fact, I do not believe I ever have.”

“After six years, you returned to Vulcan?”

“Yes. And now I am here.”

Hikaru finally looked up, his eyes soft as he inspected Spock. “And now you’re here.”

They sat, Hikaru, not searching for anything but simply being there, and Spock steadying his breath.

“I do not…” he finally managed. “I do not know what to do. Even if… even if it is ‘allowed’. I do not know what to do with the feeling itself.”

“You don’t have to do anything with it, Spock,” Hikaru raised a hand, letting Spock nod before he rested it on Spock’s knee. “You can just feel it. That’s okay too.”  
Spock couldn’t help it. He laughed, and it sounded like something splitting open.

“I have ‘just felt it’ for nineteen years Hikaru. It feels like I have felt it for my entire life. It feels like I have felt it for every life before that, for every life after. It is becoming harder. To just… feel.”

Hikaru looked at Spock, with something almost akin to pride.

“Then what do you want to do?”  
Spock heaved a breath. 

“I do not know. There are so… there are millions of variations of outcomes, of choices, of steps I could take. There are  _ many _ millions of ways that such choices can… can ruin what I have already been granted back.”

“Those millions of failed outcomes, can any of them happen in the next five minutes?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Naturally they can, but none that I have thought of no.”

“Then in the next five minutes. What is it you want to do?”

_ You are allowed. You are allowed to care. You are allowed to feel. _

“I would want to find him. I… I want to find him. If I can.”

Hikaru patted his knee, once, and picked up his PADD again. Spock had not realized he had set it down. The drawing had not broken. Instead, Hikaru had finished coloring it. A note above it read:  _ specimen, like others recorded, continues to grow towards the light. _

“Then I’ll see you later Spock. Once you’ve found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the chapter is Wedding Song by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Lyrics aren't especially attuned to the chapter, it's just very cleansing? Calming. Washes away past things. 
> 
> With every breath I breathe,  
> I'm making history.  
> With your name on my lips,  
> The ages fall to bits.  
> In flames, I sleep soundly  
> With angels around me,  
> I lay at your feet  
> You're the breath that I breathe.


	23. Beggar's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: References to past alcoholism, some self-deprecating terminology of mental illness on the part of someone suffering with it, discussion of broken families
> 
> AKA, it's a Bones chapter and Spock learns to talk about feelings, but I try really fucking hard not to romanticize shit. This chapter ain't exactly happy but I think it's a conversation they need to have so here it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the past three weeks I have written this chapter four separate times. That's right folks, 56 pages of Absolute Garbage that I repeatedly wrote and deleted and rewrote and obsessed over. I kept trying to have this amazing romcom moment and it felt terribly forced and I guess I just Wasn't Done with being sad, so this Sad Bones Chapter is gonna transition into a Bittersweet Spirk Chapter but I promise it'll be good.
> 
> This one is rough folks. But at this point I'm not gonna write it any better haha so it's just gotta get out so I can clear the way for Boys and maybe Not Angst For Once. 
> 
> Also congrats to all the AO3 Hugo Nominees hehe 
> 
> Lots of Love,   
> Taliesin

Jim was not outside the conservatory doors when Spock spilled out of them in a rush. He was not behind any of the next six doors Spock opened. He imagined that in the romantic movies Amy and Sybok used to play in the basement of their California home (he and Jim perched atop the stairs, hidden and peering through the banister rails to quip about how Notting Hill was lame, even if Jim tended to tear up every time Anna Scott confessed), he would have simply stepped out of the conservatory and ran face first into Jim, the universe conspiring to pull them together. The tides of fate and hope and all those Words That Sound Capitalized In Films taking him to exactly where he needed to be, even if his Whimsical Protagonist Nature made it so he wasn’t quite sure where that place was yet. But Spock knew where he was supposed to be, he had always known. But every capital word in the universe continued to fail to bring him there, even after all those years, Fate handing him an empty hallway, Luck an empty corridor after that, Love ample turns and corners to replay the memories of laughing with Jim, making breakfast with Jim, reading books, riding bikes, watching movies. He still remembered the first time he had seen Jim’s favorite, faces poking through the stair balusters, eyes glowing in the pale blue light, Westley and Buttercup beginning their adventure projected on the basement wall. The Princess Bride.

_ “I don’t understand… why are they kissing?” Spock tried to keep his voice down. Although Sybok and Amy had long since known their movie viewings had unintended guests, Jim was still of the mind that they were being excellent spies, and that this was great training for his next mission as the future James Bond. Spock had been informed he would make a fine Q, so he let the charade continue. _

_ "Because they’re in love, Spock, Jesus, the narrator just said that.” Jim didn’t even glance up at him, just rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to look up to know that Spock mimicked the movement back. _

_ “But he has only said ‘As you wish’. I feel like more communication is needed before they just start kissing.” _

_ “You say kissing like you’re allergic.” _

_ “This, said by the one who ran out of the room every time a couple so much as looked at each other up until a year ago. Or have you forgotten the Little Mermaid Incident?” _

_ Jim flushed, roughly tussling Spock’s hair. It was long enough to brush at the edges of his neck. Curlier than his mothers even, and Jim refused to stop playing with it. Well, perhaps refused was an incorrect choice of words. Spock had never asked him to stop.  _

_ Jim’s own hair had been shaggy then. The longest Spock ever got to see it. _

_ “There are other ways to say ‘I love you’ dumbass.” _

_ Spock frowned. Jim’s tone did not seem to imply the use of other languages. “Like what?” _

_ “Like, uh… like taking care of a person. Like remembering shit about them and stuff. Showing them things you care about. Being… being there for them.”  _

_ This made very little sense. Jim was staring at the floor at this point instead of the movie, so perhaps he just was not paying enough attention. _

_ “But he has just left her,” Spock pointed out helpfully. “That is not ‘being there’ for her, and she is incredibly distraught. How could this be true love as he says if he does not meet your prerequisites.”  _

_ Jim huffed. “I can’t tell you that, its spoilers!” _

_ “I do not care about the integrity of my movie experience in the same ways you do Jim.” _

_ Jim paused, mentally checking his moral compass regarding his passionate stance on spoilers. _

_ "Alright fine. He comes back, at the end. He spends his whole life fighting to get back to her because he’s still loved her all along. He comes back from the dead and everything!” _

_ Spock raised an eyebrow. _

_ “That is incredibly illogical, Jim.” _

_ Jim rolled his eyes, leaning to tap their shoulders together in admonishment, but the heat of it being lost in the fact he simply stayed there, resting on Spock. Neither of them moved. “You don’t make any logical sense, dickhead.” _

_ “Perhaps we should just quiet down and watch the movie, especially considering how you are so insistent on it being your favorite.” _

_ Spock settled in, watching Princess Buttercup prepare for her wedding. He didn’t realize Jim hadn’t done the same until he spoke again, forgetting to whisper as he always did. _

_ “As you wish.” _

_ When Spock glanced over again, Jim’s eyes were on the movie. But the whatever the feeling was that drifted into Spock through their shoulders… it was warm. _

_ “Just  _ wait _ until we get to the sword fight it’s so fucking good Spock!” _

 

Spock realized he had stopped moving incredibly belatedly. All he could think, over and over again, was  _ ‘as you wish’ _ . As you wish. As you wish. 

Hope was a terrifying fluttering thing, trapped in a chest that felt far too small to contain it. He could not decide if he liked how it felt. 

“Christ, Spock, you look like you’re gonna fucking hurl again.”

McCoy’s voice nearly shocked Spock out of his skin, his neck protesting at the speed at which he whipped around. But, it was just McCoy, leaning against a windowsill in the otherwise abandoned corridor. No Jim in sight. 

“Not cleaning it up again. Just, saying that right off the bat, if you do. Once was enough.”

Spock considered for several seconds simply moving on, continuing his search for Jim and ignoring the Doctor’s comments. But as he returned to reality, blinking out of his memories, it became more and more apparent that something was wrong. McCoy’s hands were shaking, white-knuckled from where they seemed to be supporting his full weight on the ledge. He looked less like he was standing and more like he was dragging himself up, gravity targeting him specifically. His face was completely even, nothing averse from the everyday expression Spock saw him wear. But his eyes were terrified.

_ I do not know what this is, _ Spock thought, _ and I certainly do not know how to fix it, _ but he drifted towards McCoy regardless.

“Is everything…” No, McCoy would not appreciate him asking that.  _ What would Hikaru say, Spock? _

Nothing. He wouldn’t say anything. It was why Spock trusted him at all.

Spock trailed off, forcing himself to shrug slightly, settling against the still a comfortable distance away from the Doctor. He cast his eyes towards the floor, ignoring the tremor in Bones’ hands and the immediate tense in his shoulders.

“Spot ‘s kinda taken, Lieutenant Spock. Surely there are other windows you can brood in, alright?”

Spock gave a small nod. “I am sure there are, Doctor.”

He heard more than saw McCoy grimace. Spock watched the dust particles drifting in the air, lit by the window, as they stood in silence.

“What the fuck, S'chn T'gai, did Pike send you or some shit?” McCoy finally burst out, annoyance clear in his voice.

Spock paused. He was very bad at this.

“I was not aware you knew my family name, Doctor McCoy.”

“I have your medical files, dipshit.”

It was his voice, Spock realized. The anger in it seemed more… performative than usual. Forced. Spock had been unaware the Doctor’s genuine bitterness was something he valued. 

“The Captain did not send me, Doctor.”

McCoy huffed, disbelieving. “Jim, then?”

“Knowing what I do of Lieutenant Commander Kirk if he had known you were… in need of assistance, he would have immediately come here himself.” 

The grimace was louder this time. 

“I’m not  _ in need of assistance _ .”

“Well,” Spock paused, “then perhaps that is why he is not here.”

This earned him only a small grunt of acknowledgment. Minutes passed. Spock could not imagine Jim would have been able to sit still long enough for this. But it was likely that Jim had much better methods to comfort his friend than Spock did.

Spock felt his mind get stuck on that word use. Another minute passed.

“Doctor McCoy, are we friends?”

One of McCoy’s hands slipped, and he slid forward slightly before catching himself again. He blinked slowly, and then finally turned to look at Spock for the first time since he had joined him.

“Spock… what the fuck kind of question is that.”

Spock shrugged again, the movement feeling more natural as he tested it out again. 

“An honest one, I suppose. It has occurred to me that I have always viewed you as a friend of Jim Kirk’s, rather than a friend of mine. This seems like a rudimentary conclusion, as I… value you to the same extent as I do my other close friends. In the past, I have expressed to Hikaru that I have a hard time distinguishing between those who see me as an acquaintance and those who see me as their friend. He told me that perhaps I should just ask.”

“That’s… that’s really shit advice. I mean it’s probably not, I sure as hell ain’t an expert but, maybe you should know who you wanna be friends with Spock.”

“I…” Spock hesitated. “I do not believe I was clear enough, Doctor. I see you as my friend. With absolute certainty. I was asking if such a feeling was reciprocated.”

It was McCoy’s turn to fumble with his words. He seemed uncertain as to whether he was more frightened of saying anything or of saying nothing at all, mouth opening and closing in half-started sentences. It landed on open, and he seemed to visibly deflate with the weight of that decision.

“Yeah, course you’re my friend, Spock. Dunno why you’d even ask.” 

“I am not the easiest friend to have, Doctor McCoy.”

When McCoy laughed, it sounded distorted, like it had to fight its way through cracks to get out of his throat.

“Yeah, well, me neither. Guess it’s just shit luck we’ve got each other then.”

“I do not believe in luck, Doctor.”

Bones shifted, his weight evening throughout his body enough to take a hand off the windowsill, stretching his fingers and flexing the muscles. Spock was unsurprised that McCoy knew several stretches for returning blood flow to the hands alone.

“Oh yeah, what do you believe in then Spock? Cause I’m guessing it’s not this Daeaman joy shit.”

“Honesty. And friendship. And love I suppose, all though that seems less relevant currently.”

In the pale light from the window, McCoy’s comically surprised expression lost its possible offensiveness and just seemed soft. 

“I’m gonna be honest Spock, that’s a much more emotional answer than I was expecting.”

“Because I am Vulcan?” he failed to keep the humorous edge out of his voice, but McCoy just shrugged.

“I’m not a cultural expert like Uhura or Jim. I’ve got basically the one thing we all know about the feelings and some concerningly basic medical knowledge considering I’m your health practitioner.”

Spock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly, and they stood there for a while, until McCoy’s other hand left the windowsill, limp by his side.

“Spock you ever loved someone?”

“Yes.” It was easier to say now. Certain, even in its complexity.

“I’m not talking… I mean like really fucking loved someone. Like you would lay down and die if it meant they would cry one less tear in their whole fucking lives. Like being apart from them physically hurts, loved someone.”

“Yes,” Spock whispered, and in the halls of the Tower, it felt like a prayer.

McCoy sucked in a breath.

“You ever fucked that up? So bad you can’t ever fix it?”

Spock felt heavy under the weight of that question. It took him a moment to answer.

“I am unsure, in all honesty. I am still attempting to fix it, but I do not know if I will ever succeed.”  _ And I am still unsure of what I even did, _ he mentally added.

McCoy cracked the kind of smile it hurts to have to see.

“You’d… you’d know. If it was hopeless. You can feel it in your stomach.”

Spock made a mental note to further investigate how his stomach felt regarding Jim. Bones did not speak for a very long time, staring at his hands, flexing them as if making sure they were still operational.

“I’ve got a daughter.” The way he said it was bizarrely casual amidst the rest of the conversation. “On Earth. Her name’s Joanna. She’s five. Scary, smart as shit, you’d like her.”

“I am certain I would,” Spock whispered, his voice gentle.

“I don’t… I don’t miss her mom. I know I should, I know… I know I’m the one…” McCoy sighed, and the rest of the sentence came out like a dam breaking. “I was an absolute piece of shit, Spock. A washed-up asshole son-of-a-bitch and I don’t miss her because I don’t think I ever loved her. She kept asking that, if I loved her, if I was even capable of it and for so long I didn’t know the answer and it was… it was so easy just to ignore it because in the haze of it all I could just ignore fucking everything and…” His breath was shaky, a bad shuttle take off straight into a battlefield.

“She loved me. In the beginning. I think that was the hardest part. That she couldn’t solve it with just love.”

“When she left it wasn’t sad it was just. Something that happened. Everything at that point was just something that happened. I joined Starfleet, because fuck it, and then they said if I didn’t you know,” McCoy made a jittery uncertain gesture, “sober up that they’d kick me out. And I thought, again, fuck it, why do I need these people anyway?”

“‘N then she called. And she said she just wanted to let me know that she… she was having a baby. She said she was gonna name her Joanna. That’s my mom’s name. And all I could think was ‘fuck, I haven’t seen my mom in years. I haven’t seen my mom in fucking years.’”

“And so I went and I did… all the shit, you know, the shit you’re supposed to do and it was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done and I’ve done open heart surgery on a pre-medicine planet while following the prime fucking directive, and I did that and I did all this shit and… when I saw her for the first time… I knew you know? This is it. This is the person who's just… got my heart in a fucking death lock and that’s just how it is.”

He glanced up at Spock. His eyes burned with something shaped like rage that was still only love.

“I need her more than I need me, Spock. More than I need anything.:

McCoy’s face hadn’t shifted, his voice hadn’t fallen to anything other than bitter, but Spock knew, without sensing anything, that in a world where he hadn’t spent them all there would be tear’s in the other man’s eyes.

“And I have seen her five times Spock. Five times. Her whole life. After everything. After trying so hard just to be a fucking person. And this… this place is what, let’s just fucking party and be happy? Worship the god of Just Live Your Life However As Long As You’re  _ Happy? _ What… what kinda bullshit is that?”

The lump in Spock’s throat made it hard to breathe, let alone speak, but he managed to form the words anyways.

“I do not believe in the Daeamian’s faith myself, but I see… I see the value in it. Not in a perfectly happy utopia. We both know that is unrealistic, but,” Spock sighed, “but we… we do not allow ourselves to feel so often. We are… scared, and lonely, and desperate and we so rarely show this because of how we have been taught society perceives such things. That… that feeling anything is a weakness. So we conceal these emotions, and slowly we train ourselves to ignore their very existence. The Daeamians do not believe in an idealistic utopia. They… they believe you are allowed to feel.”

Spock felt McCoy’s eyes boring into his skull, even as he kept focused on the dust on the ground. He was very aware that this was the most Bones had ever heard him talk, but to go back now would seem horrifically hypocritical.

“And I suppose… I respect that belief. Even if I myself am still struggling to understand it.”

They stood in silence. Spock was fairly certain that if conversations had passing grades he would have failed this one. A minute passed, and then another, and then five, and then ten. The silence suddenly seemed suffocating, and just as Spock came to the conclusion that McCoy would simply never speak to him again and was about to step away, McCoy straightened, pushing off the wall and glancing down the hallway. He eventually looked at Spock, his shoes rather than his face, but better than before.

“There’s… there’s still hope. For your… for your shit you’re trying to fix. Can feel that in my stomach too.” He shifted his weight, gesturing vaguely with his shoulder to the left, back towards the dining hall. ‘M gonna go find Scotty, I think. Parties are more tolerable with an idiot like that in your ear.”

Spock nodded, and McCoy gave a quick nod back, quickly making his way down the hallway. He was almost out of sight before Spock called after him.

“Leonard!” McCoy’s puzzlement as he turned would have been humorous if it had been even remotely because of exaggeration. 

“I… I think that you should still have hope too. For your… your shit. That you are attempting to fix. You care for your crew. You take care of them. And perhaps, even if you cannot fix this, this shit, perhaps you can still find joy with them. With us. Because it is there. If you would ever be open to it.”

Spock couldn’t quite make out the slight shift in expression that came over Bones from all the way down the hall. He stared at Spock for a couple of seconds longer. It made Spock feel very seen.

“You were wrong, earlier, Spock,” he finally said, turning again to exit. Spock felt his stomach sink, but McCoy called back even as he turned the corner. “You’re an alright friend to have, in the scheme of things.”

Spock stood frozen for a few moments after McCoy had left, the dust settling around him as the sun began to fade in the window. And then he straightened, glancing around, and set off again.

He had someone to find and an important conversation to have. One that he was beginning to feel was terribly long overdue.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna respond to comments from last update tomorrow. I normally do but i have work at 7:00 am tomorrow and he's not looking forward to this 3 hour sleep day haha. Thank y'all for your support and i promise ill answer em.  
> -Tal


	24. Over Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some self-deprecation and the beginnings of an emotional breakdown, and then Me Being Self Indulgent and Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just gotta Make Your Day A Good Day and write some happy shit for your boys. I hope you guys like this little hint of happy. It's been a long time coming. 
> 
> This chapter!! Is dedicated to some folks! The first of which is Notants on tumblr who DREW MY FIC despite having so many other things to use their WONDERFUL TALENT ON look!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://notants.tumblr.com/post/184103800177/he-was-wearing-a-massive-yellow-sweater-rolled-up>  
> 
> 
> A little Jim!! with a choppy buzzcut and a big Iowa sweater! Featuring me crying! And their other artwork is amazing you should go check them out.
> 
> This chapter is also for calico-cottage on tumblr for shouting out my fic in the Sweetest Way Possible and for indulging me in San Fran nostalgia, and spaced-kid on tumblr for apparently screenshotting snippets of my story and sending them to each other, this gay fluff? It's for you. And all of you of course! But a special shoutout to those lovely folks.
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all are having a lovely day/night/place in the space-time continuum, and I hope you enjoy,  
> Love,  
> Taliesin

It always surprised Spock how the most important things in his life, the ones that in his mind had always seemed to be so massive and grand that it was shocking that universe could even manage to contain them even theoretically, always ended up, in reality, being so painfully small. 

He opened the seventeenth door he came across in the Daeamian tower, the 56th he had tried that day, and his brain was so accustomed to the normalcy of the exercise at this point that he didn’t bother to come up with a significance for the number 56 in his head. His eyes registered ‘empty classroom’ in an automatic flicker so convincingly that he already had the door half closed when Jim glanced up and met his eyes.

“Oh, Spock. Sorry, are you looking for something?”

And that was that. Jim, looking up at him across the room, Spock, standing in the doorway looking back. It seemed too much and too little all at once, for him to simply be sitting there after all this time of searching, so little of which had occurred today in all of these rooms. He was tucked between two bookshelves in what appeared to be the reading corner of the children’s classroom, cross-legged on the woven rug. A large book was open in his lap, and the softness of it, of Jim amidst the stories, the light making the illustrations on the page he was open to shimmer, was so intensely comforting that Spock forgot that breath was something people needed. That he couldn’t live on just looking at him.

“I- I was.” It came out as a curt affirmative, much different than the thousands of soliloquized speeches that had been racing through his mind before he had opened the door. As soon as he entered the room, all the spinning in his head had just gone still. It was strange, he thought, that with Jim’s mind always being so deafeningly loud, he still always had a way of making Spock’s thoughts quiet. Or it might have been strange if it did not simply make sense, in the way it had always had. In the way it always would.

Jim smiled softly, taking a small ribbon from somewhere inside the book and laying it between the pages he was on. Spock had not been aware books came with ribbons. It seemed like a very delicate thing to mark where you were in a story. Although he supposed, the code that marked his page on his PADD was just as fragile. In a different sense. 

“You were? As in past tense?”

“Yes. I seem to have found it.”

“It?” The laughter behind Jim’s tone made it feel like his voice was floating around the room. His laugh had always sounded like that. Something bell-like and flying, always just out of reach if you tried to catch it. Jim’s laugh was not something Spock had ever wanted to capture though. It was simply something you could invite back, and watch flicker about each miraculous time it returned.

“I happened to be looking for a particularly teasing nuisance, yes. Unfortunately, I seemed to have found one quite easily,” Spock huffed, any attempt to keep his voice stern lost on Jim, who simply kept giggling.

“Well, that’s good. He was looking for you too before he got distracted. Come sit?”

It was a question, much more hesitant that the rest of his statement, but Spock’s body moved as if it was an order from something much greater than Jim alone. Although, at this exact moment, he could not fathom any being of more importance. Admittedly, he had never believed in any sort of deity before. He thought, perhaps, he may be in the process of learning a little of what it meant to be divine.

He sat down on the rug next to Jim, tucking his knees into his chest to best conserve the small space. Jim’s knee was bouncing up and down now, his cross-legged position making it so it thumped repeatedly into the side of Spock’s thigh. For years when they were younger, Jim would apologize for it until it finally seemed to click that Spock didn’t mind.

_ It is like your heartbeat,  _ Spock had told him.  _ I can even gauge your mental well being in a similar way to taking a pulse. It tells me if you are well or unwell. It tells me you are alive. I do not see how that could ever bother me. _

They sat there, in the customary silence it took Jim to put his mind together to say something important, and it took Spock nearly a minute to realize that this counted as Jim touching him again. He watched Jim’s knee move up and down, the beat of it, the feeling of the touch. It was shocking, how easy it was after all this time obsessing over its nonexistence. And yet now, it was just… there. No miles. No planetary systems. No centimeters. He was right there.

Jim’s heartbeat got faster, his mouth fumbling, his body trying to make up with movement for words trapped in his stomach. He was stuck on the precipice of it, mouthing over something, and Spock thought perhaps this time he didn’t have to watch Jim step off the cliff alone.

“What are you reading?” Spock’s voice sounded foreign to even his own ears. The softness and informality that had been so long reserved for Jim alone made him sound… younger. It was odd to hear it again. Odd, but not unpleasant. 

Jim chuckled softly, both of them knowing Spock was giving him a way out, both not finding it in them to mind at the moment. He shifted the book so that Spock could see the cover, a worn blue thing, fraying at the edges. A small golden figure, with fragile little wings, was imprinted in the fabric.

“Peter Pan, strangely. Although they have children’s books from all over the galaxies in here. You can take a look if you want.” 

Spock watched as Jim flipped through the pages for him, pausing on the watercolor illustrations so that Spock could take them in. A forest of lost boys. A pirate ship. A grinning, bright-eyed boy, teaching his friends how to fly.

“Did you read this one, ever? We had a really similar copy at the Iowa house, but I’m not sure if I ever brought it back for you.”

He had. Jim had brought Spock every story he enjoyed. There had been more picture books and bad sci-fi paperbacks at Spock’s house than his own reading material. He had read them all.

“I did. You were always very fond of the titular character.” Jim snickered, and the sound of it made it easier to be brave. “He always reminded me of you.”

Jim’s leg fluttered in the following silence.

“He did?”

“Yes. Whisking away those around him to a world of his own making, the fascination with flight, with stories. The…” He cannot find a way to capture it. How Jim had always felt like pixie dust. “...both of you always wanted to be pirates.”

Jim laughed at that one, a real laugh, the kind that made the room around them shudder. 

“Were you Wendy then?”

Spock wrinkled his nose, only slightly, but it was enough for Jim’s laugh to cascade over again. 

“She’s not nose wrinkle worthy Spock! She’s lovely, and teaches Peter about a world he never got to know.”

“I never taught you much about Vulcan, Jim.”

“Yeah, but you taught me a lot about other things. Family and stuff. Friends…” He trailed off, obviously wanting to say more. “That kinda thing.”

Spock shifted to look at the titles on the shelf behind him, running a finger along their spines. This was one of the few sensations he had come to like over time. The fabric backbones of old books, carrying worlds on paper shoulders. “I believe, in regards to who we were, I was much more of a lost boy.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“In the sense that like they with Peter, I would have followed you to the end of the world as we know it.”

His finger landed on a faded purple jacket. A Bajoran translation of Alice and Wonderland. Although, it was rumored that Lewis Carrol had simply been a displaced Bajoran. In Carrol’s century, Bajor had already been exploring with solar-sail spacecraft, reaching light years away. It was a common folk tale on Bajor that Carrol was a crash-landed mad Bajoran scientist, who had written to cope with his fears on Earth, and that was why his works were Like That. Spock did not believe it, however. Carrol was far too English.

“This was always my favorite. Although I believe this is one of the few stories that belonged to me before it belonged to you.”

Jim snapped out of his apparent daze and leaned over to read the title, a smile trying to find its way to his face. “Yeah, I remember your mom reading that to us. Pretty heavy on the illogical stuff though, I’m surprised. Not that you’d like it of course, just that you’d admit it.”

“It is about a young person who wanders into a world they do not understand, in which nothing they do is correct, and they are constantly told that they are thinking the wrong way about things. And just as they are finally accepting that they must be completely mad, they are finally let in on the secret that everyone around them is too.”

Jim blinked at him, deflating slightly. “Was that really what Earth felt like for you?”

Spock huffed slightly, his lips twitching. “No, quite the opposite. The book was great comfort in the years I spent on Vulcan.”

Jim smiled at that, in a way that hurt, because it was sad enough to seem like understanding. 

“You went back, didn’t you? After I… after I left.”

“Yes. I did.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, his voice stilted, like it was fighting to stay in his mouth.

“For what part of that statement? My return to Vulcan or your leaving?”

The bitterness of it hung in the air around them, despite the mutual flinch, wide-eyed, both just as surprised as the other that it had finally been put out in the open like that. They sat there, frozen, finally with nothing in between them to pretend to be looking at, and Spock realized that he was more scared of this than he was of dying, whatever it ‘this’ was. 

And then he thought _perhaps this is what dying is._ _Not the feeling of leaving the world, but finally hearing that the love you’ve stayed in it for left long before you got to die with it._

And then, Jim broke.

It was like watching an avalanche at half speed, the cracks in a dam finally giving out under the pressure. He buckled, back curving as he closed in on himself, head bowing, hands coming up to cover his ears as if he couldn’t stand to hear what he was saying. But when the words finally came they were quiet, like praying to something in the night.

“Both, both,  _ all of it _ , fuck and I knew, I knew as soon as I did it that it was wrong, it felt all wrong, but I couldn’t-- I kept telling myself I deserved it and that it was supposed to hurt and that it was for you and that it was the right thing and I was so fucking stupid and young and by the time I got out of that fucking camp I thought you hated me anyway, because they all hated me and I didn’t-- I didn’t even consider how it would have felt as you and I felt so fucking sure that that was-- and I couldn’t see how unimaginably selfish and terrible and  _ stupid-” _

“Jim-”

“And they got it in my head, but it was already _ in  _ my head, because you were so fucking good and I was so fucking  _ fucked up _ and why would you want me around, and- and when I finally broke and I couldn’t take it anymore and I needed to see you were gone, you were just gone, and Callum said you left planet, and I called every number on file on Vulcan but no one cared about some human kid, and my Standard gave me away, and even when I fucking learned Vulcan they could tell from my accent, and-- and I know it wasn’t you, it didn’t sound like you, I knew it wasn’t you then, but some asshole pretended to be you and said to stop calling, and-- and then I just thought you didn’t, you didn’t want-”

“ _ Jim. _ ”

“And it-- it didn’t fucking matter after that, none of it mattered, and everyone was fucking shit, no matter what family it was, and even Chris, he just, he couldn’t get me to care again, and I couldn’t- in Iowa, in California, in Nebraska, no matter where the fuck I was you weren’t there it was like the whole fucking planet was haunted and I thought- I thought maybe if I just- If I just-”

“Jim.” 

It was like a record scratch when Spock’s fingers touched Jim’s wrist. His head whipped up like he had suddenly realized Spock was even there. And the terror in his eyes, even if Spock still couldn’t feel it, Spock recognized it. 

Jim could have been staring down Death herself, and he would have been braver then than how he was looking at Spock now.

He could feel it now. The flicker of the storm under Jim’s skin. Whatever mental barriers he had trained in himself, for Spock now recognized that was what it was, they weren’t strong enough to hold back all of him right now. He remembered the first time he had touched Jim’s mind, the Pacific waters around them seeming insignificant in compared to the waves of  _ Jim _ that had overwhelmed him. He knew from experience that Jim’s mind was something to drown in. 

_ Let me in, Jim,  _ he tentatively thought across a bond he was not sure was even there anymore.

Jim flinched, laughing something wet and sobbing.

“You don’t… you don’t want in here Spock.”

“You thought I did not want you to return, Jim. We are both here now. I am here.”

In the gold of the room, even the broken smile that Jim gave at that between the sobs seemed beautiful. But perhaps, that was simply the gold of Jim, finally peeking through again.

“I thought you didn’t want me around anymore, Spock. I thought you were gone forever.”

Carefully, Spock shifted, letting his wrist settle against Jim, their pinky fingers barely touching. Where Wendy had placed her first thimble.

“‘ _ Forever, _ ’” Spock breathed, “‘ _ Is an awfully long time, Peter. _ ’”

And with one last laugh that felt like flying, Jim let go, and let him in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music Is Good This Was The Music, 22 Over SOON by Bon Iver
> 
> It might be over soon, soon, soon  
> Where you gonna look for confirmation?  
> And if it's ever gonna happen  
> So as I'm standing at the station  
> It might be over soon  
> (All these years)  
> There I find you marked in constellation  
> There isn't ceiling in our garden  
> And then I draw an ear on you  
> So I can speak into the silence  
> It might be over soon


	25. Happy Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Clarifying A.N. Addressing some of the chapters content at the end. Spock is not a dumbass, he is Just a Fool haha I will do my best to explain what I mean by the difference. You can also read it at the beginning if you would like insight into Spock’s mind before reading (so you don’t get frustrated with either him or me haha) but warning for mild yet helpful spoilers if you chose to do so. Hope this helps!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
> I hope you're all doing well, and that this chapter and note finds you well, and if not, I hope all this Spirk content makes your day a little bit better. I don't actually have a lot to say tonight except that I'm really excited to be done with classes this semester so that I can focus more attention back on this fic! And possibly go back to updating weekly? This summer will be super exciting to me, as I'm going to be working as a science instructor and (gasp!) making a DnD podcast with my friends?? Which is super exciting! But I think I'll be able to focus more on this because of less homework and essays and such, and in the meantime, I'm super grateful for all of your kindness and flexibility with me shifting to updating every two weeks versus one. Also TOTAL SIDE NOTE if yall havent seen Big Eden go watch it right now it this wonderful LGBT romcom that is basically a hallmark movie plot but good and gay and wonderful and made my heart explode with so much happy and also if you watch it please PLEASe message me on tumblr at greylunar to scream about it I don't normally get this excited about things but it was so good and my heart died.
> 
> Anyways! haha thank you so much for your continued support and comments, it makes me so incredibly happy and I know I've said this a hundred times but I really am writing this because of you guys and for you to enjoy and to hear that you enjoy it is what makes writing all this so worth it. I love you all, and I hope that you know that some idiot on the internet really cares about you and hopes you're happy today.  
> Lots of love,  
> Taliesin

_ And with one last laugh that felt like flying, Jim let go and let him in.  _

 

Spock could not have described returning to Jim’s mind to another person if he had every year in all of time and space to do it. He could not find the words for it, and he knew he never would, even if he spent the rest of his life learning the languages of the universe.  "Like coming home," he might have said. Or he may have tried “krilan-vo'ektaya,” in Vulcan. Yet neither of those things were enough somehow. They were stilted similies, in comparison to the truth of it. But it was coming home, and it was a sense of emotional harmony. He could feel it, the resonation of the truth of it in his chest, in his lungs, his bones. The universal hum of something that in English vaguely meant ‘I love you’, but the real meaning of it got lost in translation. 

Jim did not return after all these years any softer, any quieter. He came back just as awe-inspiringly loud, just as painfully bright and jagged, just as all-encompassing. And his mind was, after all this time, still the softest thing Spock had ever touched. Even with the mental barriers down, he could feel Jim still trying to filter it. To dim all the wild light and noise of it. Spock couldn’t help but smile, watching as Jim tried to find shade trees in a forest fire. 

Being in Jim’s head hurt. There was a shock to it, trying to understand the sharp, splintering kaleidoscope of Jim’s awareness. The constant tessellation from one form to another: hope to anger, joy to pain, fear to sorrow and back again. The multitudes of it, each individual feeling seeming larger than a man could hold, and still just a pinprick in the whole of all that was Jim. Spock thought that just maybe the Daeamians were onto something. All of this, all this echoing and rioting and loving, it was something worth worshiping. Something to Cherish.

He did not know how much of his emotion in this moment was being conveyed to Jim. Spock wanted to think that Jim could feel his mind leap the second Jim’s made contact with his, that Jim felt the overwhelming fondness, the undertow of loss and regret that still felt raw to the touch caught up in the wave of  _ rightness _ . He wanted to think that. Spock, for all that he knew, still had no idea what his own mind would look like to another. Whether it ebbed and flowed like his mothers, or crashed and churned like Jim’s. If anyone could tell him, he would want it to be Jim. But he did not know if Jim could even sense his presence at all.

“Jim?”

“Yeah, Spock?” The words came out in one low breath. Jim had curled around the point of contact between them, already halfway in Spock’s lap, his shoulder poking into Spock’s ribs, his head brushing his knee. It made Spock smile, the sight of Jim after all these years going right back to the origami folded method of closeness he had so often engaged in as a child. He felt comfort in knowing that their bodies, now taller, wider, shifted, still fit together. That even if they had grown up it didn’t mean they had grown apart.

Even here, on another planet, in another galaxy, years later, it somehow managed to feel like they were sitting on the worn couch in Jim’s old house, giggling as they sunk into the cushions together to read or watch movies. It made Spock wonder if he had really loved that couch and those memories so much, or if he had just loved Jim.

“Can you hear me? Or sense… what I am feeling?”

Jim thought for a moment.

“Not really. It’s more like...a hum of you, if that makes sense. I can feel that you’re there, and I have a vague sense of whatever it is you’re feeling, but I can only really hear what you think directly at me. It's like you singing at me without words though, it’s just the hum of it. But I can get the idea of what you mean.”

**_Like this?_ ** Spock thought.

Jim snickered, “yeah, like that.”

**_But you cannot hear the words?_ **

“See, like that, I could tell that was a question because it felt questioning, but I have no idea what you actually asked.”

**I love you.**

Jim curled in on himself, letting his head rest on Spock's knee, limbs tangled up together. 

**I love you. I love you.** Spock let his other hand come up and gently graze Jim’s hair. Jim’s eyes fluttered closed, and Spock realized his thumb still fit perfectly into the hollow at the base of Jim's head.

**I have loved you for so long, James Kirk**

Jim's eyelashes brushed against Spock's leg as he pulled himself closer.

**And I will love you for even longer.** Spock thought. 

“Jus’ feels warm,” Jim mumbled, voice honeylike and slow. “Dunno what you’re saying but it feels warm. You feel warm.”

Spock smiled, although he could not tell if it was happily or not.

“I was telling you of my intent to defeat you in a game of chess as soon as we return to the Enterprise.”

Jim snorted, nodding softly. “Figures.”

It was quiet, but he did not mind the quiet anymore. Eventually, Jim shifted, twisting so he was looking up at Spock with an indecipherable expression, the same one that Sulu wore when drawing something complicated- his favorite plant, perhaps, or another crew member. Like Jim was trying to memorize him, every little piece of Spock, to be captured later. 

Jim looked at him as though Spock wasn't just worth understanding, but remembering. 

Spock had no reference for that sort of softness. 

Jim reached up, idly tucking a curl behind Spock’s ear and tracing it to the point, hesitating for a moment that could have been forever, that Spock wanted to be forever. And for a glorious second, Jim looked up at him and hesitated, moving as if to cup Spock’s face. To hold him. But Jim just laughed to himself softly, shaking his head and dropping his arm to cover his face in a huff.

“I missed you. Not even just- not even just when we were apart. I missed you last week, I missed you yesterday, I missed you an hour ago. I know that sounds stupid because you were there, but I didn’t just miss you being there, I missed you. I missed…” Jim gestured vaguely up at him, before letting his hand fall heavily back to his chest. “This. I missed this. I know that’s silly because it was me who messed it all up but-”

“Jim.” Spock smiled. Jim looked up at him, and Spock could feel the fear, the guilt, mixed in with the warmth, the mess of things unnamed that had always accompanied Jim’s mind. “You’re alright.”

Jim nodded, his lips tugging upward, rolling back over to his side.

“I think I’m a bad influence on your grammar.”

“Perhaps. But you are a very good influence on the rest of me.”

If Jim’s laughing splutter at ended up dying in his throat, and a few quiet tears landed on Spock’s pant leg after that, Spock didn’t feel the need to say anything about noticing it.

“I didn’t think- I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And then one day you were just... there?” Jim giggled, faintly hysterical at the unlikeliness of it all. “And I was so scared of messing it up again, and I still am, and I just can’t. I can’t fuck this up again, Spock.”

“You won’t. We won’t.”

They sat there, the only noise in the room Jim’s occasional sniffles. It would take a long time, Spock thought, to mend whatever it was they had. But he felt that those four minutes of silence they spent wrapped up in each other, bodies and minds and Jim and Spock and everything that mattered, those four minutes did more to heal the past than the past ten years had. He didn’t feel whole per se, but he felt the closest he had gotten to it in a long long time.

“What was it like?” Jim finally whispered. “I mean, what did you do? When we were apart. If you don’t want to tell me you don’t have to. But… I want to know. If you want to tell me.”

Spock sighed, his fingers slowing their circling pattern in Jim’s hair. He knew Jim was being honest. He knew he really did want to know. He just didn’t know if he would want to after he had heard.

“Are you sure, Jim?”

Jim nodded. When Spock still didn’t speak, he added, “I’m sure. I’ve come up with some pretty worst-case scenarios in my head. And even if it is the worst it could be, at least it would be the truth. At least I’d be able to know.”

It made sense, logically. But Spock still felt himself taking a deep breath, like preparing to dive into water you didn’t truly know the depth of. He drew a symbol in Vulcan on the back of Jim’s head. In a sense, it meant protection. **You are safe,** it said.  **We will be okay.**

_ “Being on Vulcan after Earth was like waking up from a dream I could never quite remember having. Despite everything about Vulcan assuring me it was solid, factual, tangible, I could not help but feel like I was always still half asleep, waiting for the part of me I had left in that other world to come join me on the next. It was like taking off a backpack I had worn for years-” _

He talked for what felt like hours, but might have only been minutes. It hurt, not in the sense that it was painful to remember, but in the way of laying something to rest. His past pain may not have been dead yet, but it was dying, and although he knew now it would not take him along with it, he could not help the fear of what might come after once it was gone. He didn’t know what kind of world he would step into after he finally talked to Jim about this. But he knew with absolute certainty that he wanted to step into it together. 

He did not need to look at Jim to gauge his emotional reactions to his story, but he found himself doing so anyway. Jim was expressive, as he was in any other situation. The only difference now was the Spock knew what the expressions meant. His shoulders and face tensing whenever Spock mentioned T’Pring was not new, but the knowledge that it came from a pang of mixed wariness and fear, and something like unworthiness that Spock did not understand, was. The pride that matched Jim’s smile when Spock told him about his adventures in coding simulations. The nostalgia and sense of loss that matched a wistful look when Spock recounted Sybok’s visits. And the overwhelming sadness that matched the quiet tears as Spock told him about the rest. About his own loneliness, his own uncertainty. The sense of being lost, that had laid over him all those years spent on Vulcan. How that sense had led him to Starfleet. 

“And you never- like you never considered that I might have been there?”

Spock blinked, chuckling to himself. “No, I do not even believe it even crossed my mind. The thought of you and I being in the same place again seemed so wishful of a concept that even Starfleet seemed more fantastical than an actual reality I would be taking part in. It was more that I could no longer see myself at the Science Academy, and after so long chasing that, I had nowhere I could see myself at all. I believe, in a way, I decided to go because of you. But I do not believe I had any thought that you would be there. It was more of a decision based off of the memory of enjoying games with a younger you than any conscious thought of your current whereabouts.”

“And, when you found out I was there? Or, I’m assuming you did I guess, although I didn’t until that night at the bar. Though I’m sure that’s through my own sheer dumbassery.”

Spock sighed. 

“I did not take it particularly well at first. I found out fairly early into my second year there. A few months after that there was also the incident with the Kobayashi Maru.”

“The incident with the-” Jim blinked as if suddenly putting the pieces together, “wait does that mean you were-”

Spock chuckled. “I created the program yes. I thought that was apparent from my earlier story.”

“The letter!” Jim sat bolt upright, still half in Spock’s lap, nearly teetering the two of them backward. “It was you wasn’t it, who wrote the letter that got me off with just a suspension at that hearing! I thought it was Pike this whole fucking time, but it was you! ‘ _ While Cadet Kirk failed to see the intended meaning for the simulation- _ ’”

“It is through his actions he has succeeded in exhibiting the same characteristics of command the Kobayashi Maru seeks to invoke.” Spock continued, not missing a beat. “Though acting only through the lens of his all-encompassing saviors complex and general disregard for authority, Kirk disregarded his own safety, in this case, the integrity of his own scholastic track, in order to 'save' the lives of those in the simulation. The foolishness of this train of thought can not be understated. However, Starfleet Command has been founded on the tenant of gaining the knowledge it takes to effectively protect those in need, and to defend them no matter the cost. It is my conclusion, that while Cadet Kirk may have made a poor choice as a student,” Spock’s eyes flickered up to meet Jim’s, who was staring at him wide-eyed and with something approaching awe. “He made an excellent choice as a Captain.”

Silence hung in between them, to the point where Jim’s closeness edged from comforting into vaguely nerve-wracking as Spock became distinctly aware of just how little distance was in between their noses. Jim was looking at him with a question he didn’t know how to answer. There was one last line in that letter, the one that had been read in the court hearing in regard to Jim’s expulsion. Jim had not known the name that it was signed by. But he remembered the last line just as well as Spock did. 

_ I would be proud to one day serve under him. _

“But... “ Jim fumbled with his words, “you must have still hated me. Why would you…”

Spock shrugged, the small movement alone seeming like it might upset the delicate balance he found himself in, with Jim staring at him, with the truth making the space between them seem even smaller.

“It was true. And what you did was impressive. You participated in the program only two times beforehand in order to gather the data you needed in order to execute the hack, and you did so leaving little to no residual evidence that you had been there. I kept any emotion I might have had regarding the situation out of the report.”

This wasn’t true, and Spock knew it, and Jim must have known it. But Jim was right, there was no hatred in the report. Even then, amidst all of Spock’s bitterness, all you could hear in his words was pride. Was faith.

“I asked for a copy of the letter afterwards,” Jim mumbled, settling back into a comfortable distance that allowed Spock to think. “Didn’t have the name still, but I framed it.” He snickered. “Well, alright, I specifically framed the section that said "acting only through the lens of his all-encompassing saviors complex and general disregard for authority." Bones kept taking it down and throwing it out, but I’d just print out another copy and put it up again. I considered making pins.”

Spock rolled his eyes. “Scotty would buy one, I assure you.”

“Oh definitely. Pike too, probably.”

They both laughed at that, in a way that made everything a little bit easier. 

“And what about T’Pring?” Jim asked awkwardly when the comfortable silence had returned. “She’s still with Stonn?”

Spock nodded, hesitantly. He had not told Jim the entirety of why he and T’pring had decided not to go through with their betrothal. He had not, for example, mentioned that his bond had been broken with her long before he had returned to Vulcan. Only that she had sought another partner.

“Yes, they were both among the many who journeyed to New Vulcan to set up the infrastructure there.”

Jim seemed unsure of what to do with that information, or, more accurately, like he was unsure of what Spock was doing with that information.

“That’s… good for them? Right?” Jim offered, his voice sounding strangely clipped.

Spock gave a noncommittal shrug. New Vulcan was not exactly good for anyone, it was just how it was. “I suppose she will be happy there, yes.”

Jim seemed rather off-put by that answer, although Spock couldn’t entirely tell why. He shifted awkwardly, a little further away from Spock, like he had just noticed an invisible boundary and was trying to make up for crossing it. 

“And you, you don’t want? To go to New Vulcan?”

Spock frowned, puzzled. Jim’s pulling away had broken their connection, leaving only the residual feeling of Jim’s uncertainty. 

“No, I do not. While I value my life on Vulcan and the culture of my people, I have never truly felt at home there. It was a matter of realizing that I did not have an obligation to my heritage, merely respect and appreciation towards it. The younger generation of Vulcans are taking a new role in defining what Vulcan tradition and culture means to them, and what it will mean to their successors. But I feel no need to do so. I understand what being Vulcan means, perhaps more than some of them ever will. And it is for this reason that I wish to acknowledge that I can be both separate and a part of it. That I can be Vulcan, and Human, and still simply be myself.”

Jim smiled, reaching out and tapping Spock’s temple only momentarily, but enough so that his sense of pride could leak over their bond. “Is that what you were thinking when you said no to the academy?”

Spock chuckled. “Far from it. That is a much more recent development in how I see the world. No, I was only thinking of my mother. And you.”

Jim blinked. “Me?”

Spock’s face was soft as he looked at him. “I could not justify a world in which I hated the part of me that was human, knowing you. Knowing that you were so very human, and that…” Spock faltered off, trying to find a way to say what he needed to without crossing over any lines. “I suppose, I was simply thinking that if any part of me was the kind of human you were, it was the kind of human I should be proud to be.”

Spock’s gaze was fixed on the ground when Jim’s hand came up to cup his face. Spock felt his face flush, hoping the temperature of the Daeaman air around them would conceal the way his ears greened as Jim’s emotion washed over him. He did not know what this one was called. It felt warm, however.

“I am absolutely the worst role model you could pick, doofus. But I’m glad. If I can help you love yourself a little more in any way,” Jim trailed off, embarrassed slightly. “Well, I’d be happy for that. Is all.”

They sat there, Spock’s hand eventually coming up to rest on Jim’s cheek as well. He let himself have this, for just a moment. The feeling of warmth. The feeling of… being cared for. He knew, in some corner of his mind, that Jim did not care for him in the same way Spock did. The small voice that used to remind him Jim was never coming back had taken up a new chant.  _ It isn’t you. It will never be you. He may love someone one day, but it will never be you.  _ But he pushed it to the side. And he let himself have this for now. Tonight, Jim would make a choice. He’d face the Charging, Spock knew, because he could already feel the determination and righteousness that swirled around the edges of Jim’s mind, even if he didn’t fully understand it. And so he knew in his heart that tonight Jim would be someone else’s, that in a few minutes they would have to get up and go find the rest of the crew. That in the next hour, the next week, the next year, Jim might go find someone who made him feel the way Spock did for him. The way that made his chest sing some song that had no words when Jim got close to him.  _ A heart song _ , he thought, smiling bittersweetly at the memory of it.

And so while he knew that Jim was not and would never be his. He knew he had this moment. And even if Jim was not his own, this small moment in time, that could be. So he let his fingers trace symbols into Jim’s hairline that vaguely meant ‘I love you’, and he closed his eyes, and let himself live in the glow of Jim’s mind. In the feelings that washed over him. In all that was so very  _ warm.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit:   
> Hi! Commenter predisposed_to_be_happy made a great point that I wanted to clarify: the unreliable narration makes it difficult to convey properly BUT Spock is able to completely tell what Jim feels in this scene. The difficulty in the matter is that Spock has no reference point as to what this feeling might be, or more specifically the extent of it. He’s historically only ever regularly felt the mind of his mother and T’Pring, who both hold a certain level of warmth and fondness for him. He knows that Jim cares about him a lot, but assumes that the level of fondness he feels is only greater because everything is louder in Jim’s head. Spock doesn’t have data to compare him to, and so it’s difficult for him to fully grasp what he may be seeing. I chose to do it this way in order to illustrate a common occurrence with many neurodivergent communities (including my own), which is not fully grasping what marks the difference between platonic & romantic love. Spock is very aware that Jim cares about him, it’s part of why he’s so calm in this chapter, he just has no evidence to prove to himself that Jim cares about him romantically based on biased sample data (and a biased sampler). So basically after all that rambling haha Spock’s lack of a big reveal isn’t really out of convenient ignorance but rather just that he can tell Jim cares about him, but assumes that it’s not the way he does. I hope this clarifies things, and that you can be patient with both my boys & me as we address this in chapters to come c:


	26. Agape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not dead AND I finished up my whole year of college. That's a pretty good combo move I'd say.   
> I apologize for the delay, but between finals and mental health stuff, this is the chapter you're getting, and nows when you're getting it, so, hope that's okay hahaha c: I wanna thank you all again for your amazing continued support and wonderfullness, you all make my day, my month, and my year every time we interact and you should know that YOU are a huge reason that creators like me smile half the time. Hope you're all doing well. Hope this chapter is and tender and pining as I can make it.  
> Lots of love,  
> Taliesin 
> 
> PS E/M RATING EARNED NEXT CHAPTER SO PREPARE FOLKS BUCKLE THOSE SEATBELTS

The wine on Daeama was sweet. It was nothing like the alcohol on Earth, or Vulcan, for that matter. It tasted faint, like the idea of flowers. Sweet, and barely there, only bitter at the very end- like something wilting in your throat. 

Spock sipped his drink, trying to remember the taste of things he loved. The spiced warmth of cocoa. The soft bite of the orange candies that Hikaru used to carry around at the academy. The splitting salt of the waves back home, that he had often thought the sun itself must taste like, the way it burnt his tongue.

Nyota was looking at him strangely from across the table like she was just as surprised as he was that “home” had fluttered past his mind as California without setting off any alarm bells. He wondered if that was new. Perhaps it had always been that way. Or maybe the privilege of having Vulcan be his home, hard one and sandy in his mouth, had been lost to him months ago. Maybe when he had wiped the dust and grime Nero had left in his wake off his face and washed it down the bathroom sink, his tenuous claim to the planet had simply followed its remnants down the drain. How silly, he had been. To mistake the specks of sand and dust for dirt, instead of what they were-- ashes from a funeral pyre.

Uhura leaned forward, the curve of her shoulder quietly dividing them from the rest of the companions at their table. The now reunited crew members had clustered around the dining table, joking, eating, laughing. It was very  _ Starfleet  _ of them, he thought. It did not matter if hours before everything seemed to be drifting apart. It had taken five minutes of Scotty rounding them all up for some sort of Daeaman card game, a tap on Pike’s shoulder and a playful shove of Bone’s gloomy bubble, some vaguely challenging comment about Hikaru’s strategy in such games and they were suddenly all... back. Back to making the best of everywhere and anywhere the universe dragged them to. Back to teasing, to smiles, to strategy and wit, to just… being. They were simply good at being together.

Spock recalled his first childhood lesson on constellations. He had been young, in a time before Earth, before two worlds, before the concept of being together or apart. Sybok had sat him on the balcony guardrail, a brief glimpse into danger, something that had seemed precarious and frightening at the time and now seemed so small. He had whispered, so as not to wake Sarek or Amanda, about how the stars hung in the sky. How that even though the stars themselves were light years upon light years apart, all it took was the right setting, the right perspective, and they could line up to fit perfectly next to each other. Now, here, he wondered if he looked, to the wandering planets of strangers, like a part of this particular puzzle. Like a member of such a brightly shining pack of stars. He couldn’t tell, even now, the span of the distance between them. It was always such a hard thing to gauge. He knew, objectively, that they were his friends. But as always, from the stars viewed on Vulcan to the people around him now, he could not tell how close they really were.

“I can’t tell if you’re drunk off fruit wine or you’re just thinking so hard your ears are going green.”

If a small portion of his drink went up his nose in a snort, Spock was certain that it was only because Nyota caught him off-guard.

“My ears do no such thing, Lieutenant Uhura.”

She smiled, shifting so that the rowdy picture of Scotty pulling in Bones as a second as Hikaru snickered over his winning hand was obscured from view, her face kind and warm, guiding his mind back to solid ground like a lighthouse hailing shore. He blinked, and let her pull him into safety.

“I was simply thinking, Nyota,” he added, softer. “It has been an eventful day. There is quite a bit to unpack, so to speak.”

She nodded, sipping her drink, raising her eyebrows at him. “Care to share?”

Spock glanced over to the other end of the table. It was nothing more than a half turn, it should have barely counted as a movement, much less unravel him. But the will to look away, to turn from the view of Jim at the other end of the table faded nearly instantly.

Jim, eyes crinkled, smiling bright and warm enough that Spock could feel it wrap around him from here. Scotty said something, probably snarky from the look on McCoy’s face, and Jim threw his head back and  _ laughed  _ still smiling like that simple act hadn’t dropped the floor out from under Spock, dropped the entire world away. The pictured danced, dipping between two images,  _ Jim-Scotty-Bones-Hikaru  _ overlayed by another. With the last of the sun setting in his eyes, the golden glow of love and nostalgia and other things that felt like laughter in your chest hanging in the air he could almost see them. Daichi and T’Ali, Callum at their side, Jim glowing in the center.  Spock caught a fleeting glimpse of the way things could have been, and strangely enough, it didn’t look so different than how things were. What he was looking at, it looked like home. Not Vulcan, not Earth, but  _ home. _

If he didn't open his eyes again, if he kept himself trapped in this blink, in this bubble made of fruit-sweet wine and sunlight, he could walk over there. 

Spock could pull over a chair, sit down, and watch Jim swap out for whoever had gotten sick of losing enough to quit (Daichi/Scotty, 7 times out of 10).

Jim would win, of course. 

He would win the first round and every time after that, freckled fingers flipping through cards like they were a part of him, like he had been hedging bets and probabilities since birth and really, hadn’t he been? And even after all of that, there wasn’t anything more carelessly brilliant than a smile, a smile that pulled at your spine and your stomach and your heart, that you’d follow down any rabbit hole. A poker face that beamed with dimpled cheeks till you believed it could have won anything. 

Even now, without playing, without seeing what exactly he was looking at, Spock knew. He knew Jim was calculating hands, recording ticks or tactics, half-counting cards with that messy self-assurance that they would be right where he needed, and if they weren’t, he’d pull them there through luck and will alone. 

Of course Spock had gone blind. Looking at the sun like that.

"Spock?" Nyota said, and he came back to himself, and the world around him. Because he couldn’t walk over there. To Jim’s side. Because then, then there’d be no going back.

James T. Kirk. Irreverent, irresistible, incandescent. 

And irreversible. 

And Spock could not bear imagining that.

“Spock, your predicament wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact your face is bordering on looking adoring right now, and well past the threshold of smiling, I might add.”

If his ears had not been green before, they certainly were now.

He sighed, turning so his back was to the group. He was unaware that Bones or Scotty were capable of reading lips, but this was Starfleet. It was best to have a contingency plan for any possible hidden talent.

“I am confused, Nyota.”

Uhura tried valiantly to hide her surprise at such a direct confession of emotion, which failed miserably, but at least brought some levity to the situation.

“That’s new, Spock. You saying so, I mean. I know you’ve been confused before.” The words carried no judgment, instead, they were just a simple observation of fact. Uhura was by far the easiest human to understand Spock had met. She was not and had never been an open book, but she told you what she meant. There was little flash, little mincing of words, she told you what mattered. Spock appreciated that. He did not know how to handle mystery.

“We are friends, Nyota. Correct?”

“Yes.”

The bluntness, the brutality of a one-word answer brought him comfort. Hikaru shifted his words to create a sense of content and safety, and Pavel could barely go a sentence without proclaiming his sincerity.  _ Of course we are friends, Mister Spock! How could you even ask such a thing? You will always be my treasured- _

It was kindness, out of both of them. And he valued it, appreciated it. But the simplicity of Nyota’s truth was easy. He trusted her because there was no uncertainty there to distrust. He needed answers, to a question that was tumbling and uncertain and far to intricately entwined in the knots of his stomach to be easily unraveled, and for that, he need help he could trust. A point of known certainty, a landmark against the rest.

“Why?”

Nyota frowned. “A little more clarification on that one, Spock.”

Spock sighed, “What is it that makes us friends? Why is it we fall under that category and not another? A platonic versus a romantic relationship, to be specific.”

Nyota blinked. “Well, I can think of one rather glaring issue.”

Spock sighed. “That isn’t what I mean, Nyota. I am not undermining our sexualities in some sort of strange hypothetical, I am simply asking…” his voice trailed, and he stared at the table like that did anything to take his attention away from the golden light in his peripheral vision. “What makes someone a friend versus… versus loving them.”

Nyota nodding, humming slightly. It was reminiscent of the slight whirring that Callum had emitted when retrieving older or more complicated data. It was something that had always brought him joy, that her process of recalling knowledge was melodic. The most complicated language conjugations, the most far-flung statistics, and yet all were linked back to her art. Like all of the science in the world was linked back to one song. 

“Well, first of all, you’re working with a limited definition of love. You’ve been referring to romantic love as being synonymous with loving someone, and that isn’t a full truth.”

Spock did not know what his face looked like, but Uhura glanced up at him and smiled, backtracking.

“I’m assuming you’ve read some of the Earthen classics. I’m referring to the Greeks, before the Hellenistic Age, so not the ‘classic’ classics, you know, the oral histories that predated that time, and certainly not what we call the classics, although I do love Ocean Vuong, but I digress.” She dipped her finger in her drink, drawing several circles in condensation on the table.

“The ancient Ancient Greeks believed there were eight distinct types of love. We could carry all sorts of combinations of these loves inside us, and not everyone had or needed all eight. Scotty will be the first to tell you that he has no need for Eros, otherwise known as sexual or erotic love, and Pavel has discussed with both of us that his only need is for that of Philia and Storge, love between friends and love between family respectively. Philia was, in fact, one of the highest-ranking loves in importance to the Greeks. It was love between equals, chosen, earned through mutual respect and trust.”

Spock frowned. Jim’s mind had seemed. Well, it had certainly thought him an equal, at the very least. He wasn’t sure if it was chosen, though. He had long since forgotten if he had chosen Jim, or if Jim had chosen him. It seemed, at this point, that the fact they were…  _ them  _ was part of how the universe worked. “But how would you know that the love someone feels is Philia versus romantic, for should not both cases involve being seen as equals? If they view me as an equal, how do I know that they do not view me as such in only a platonic way?”

Nyota paused, smiling at him.

“What?”

She shrugged. “You said ‘me,’ just then. Describing your hypothetical.”

Spock swallowed, testing the hypothetical of being brave. “So I did.”

Nyota smiled. She leaned back in her bench, looking him up and down.

“So you love him?”

“I did not refer to anyone specifically in that hypothetical, Nyota.”

“No, but I did, just now. Do you? Love him?”

“Yes.”

She sipped her drink. “Full sentence. I hear Vulcans don’t lie, but you spin half-truths.”

“I love him.” It was terrifyingly easy to say. It felt warm in his mouth, like how the sun would taste. Copper and honey and salt and things that burn.

“In which ways?”

“Any of them. All of them.”

She nodded. She glanced over to the other end of the table. Jim was playing Hikaru now, whose face was becoming further and further perplexed.

“Hey, Kirk! Spock’s playing winner, so you best show up.”

Jim looked up, processing the words, and then his face split in a smile that made Spock wonder how he could have deserved it. 

“I’ll be there.” It was confident. The easiest thing to trust in the world, simple and certain. There was a beat, two beats, where Spock could not remember existing outside of that exact moment. And then Jim blinked, turning and hurriedly adding, “not that you can’t beat me, Hikaru, didn’t- didn’t mean to be an ass, sorry,” and Spock watched as Jim was pulled back into the small bubble of banter and smack talk amidst the chaos of the partying Daeamians. 

It took Spock a second to turn back to Nyota. Strangely, it took her a little longer to turn away from Jim herself. He could hear her humming. Connecting the world, the data, the notes. Pondering. When she turned back, however, she was smiling.

“You’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”  _ Always.  _

She tapped a slow tempo on the table. “There’s a word. For how he feels. For how you both feel, I believe.”

She dragged her finger through the condensation circles, winding and looping, linking them all together until they connected into one. 

“Agape. Simply, it can be called ‘selfless love’. But...that’s simply. To put it more completely, in the best I can in this language,” her eyes flicked to his. There was no doubt in them. “It’s a love that is unconditional. It is a love that accepts, that forgives, that forgets, and remembers. It believes. It is the kind of love that makes you love the world around you for no other reason that it exists. It is…” and here Nyota faltered, a small chuckle escaping her.

“What?” Spock asked, and it came out stumbling and breathless.

“Well, it’s just, it’s a little funny. It’s about the interconnection of all things, a sort of spiritual linking. It’s universal. And that's what they call it,” she smiled at him like she had finally fit the pieces together perfectly. “Cosmic Love. Written in the stars, and all that.”

“Oh,” Spock whispered, watching as Bones hooted and hollered, clapping Jim on the back as he laid down his winning hand, turning to smile at Spock. “And all that.”

 

***

 

It was very strange, Spock thought, to be standing so precariously on the edge of something, and to still be on solid ground. The balcony of the quarters he had been given in the Daeaman tower was oddly helpful. To be leaning against the guard rail, looking out at unfamiliar constellations, the casual imbalance of it somehow seemed to bring him physically back in line with the teetering of his mind. The festivities had lasted an incredibly long time and were still going on, only dimming as more and more of the population dropped off into sleep. The sun had long since set, in fact, they were nearer now to dawn than dusk. He had left Nyota in the hall, convincing Hikaru to come dance with her, Scotty finding increasingly more ridiculous Daeamans to poke fun at for McCoy’s entertainment. Pike had disappeared before the sun had even fully set to discuss more official Starfleet business and Jim…

Jim had left hours ago. A Daeamian priestess had come to fetch him, to explain the ceremony, if he was interested. Jim had gone with her. So, that insinuated interest.

Spock could not remember his head hurting this terribly since, well, since ever. It was just a pressure, between his eyes and behind his eyelids, that reminded him constantly that there was something he didn’t understand. 

He knew Jim cared about him. He could not ignore the data he’d been given in that regard. But that he even returned a  _ fraction  _ of Spock’s adoration seemed completely illogical. Everything in Jim’s brain was loud! It only made sense that his care was magnified, and it wasn’t… it was not romantic. It wasn’t, because Spock would recognize such a thing. He would! He would be able to, he had all the theoretical knowledge he needed to make such a judgment, and yet.

Something was bothering him.

He had thought Jim was failing miserably at hiding the last dregs of his emotions in the flood of their most recent bonding. But Jim failed miserably at very very few things he had extensively studied at. And it was obvious he had studied extensively at mental walls and protection, so perhaps he had been hiding something. Perhaps he had been hiding-

“But that is all… it’s all foolish! You are being foolish! He doesn’t even like- you’ve only ever seen him with women! You absolute idiot!” Spock was a bit taken aback by both the growl at the end of that statement (his voice could do that? To be further investigated later), but he was further taken aback by the knock at his door, which came very near to completely tipping him over the balcony guardrail. It took him nearly half a minute to fumble his way to the door, composing himself, before opening it.

The Daeaman at the door, strangely enough, looked just as surprised to see him as he did they.

“Oh, hello Lieutenant Spock, I apologize, I did not mean to catch you at an inconvenient moment.”

Spock urged his organ functions to be quieter.

“It is quite alright, is there something you need from me? I was just about to lay down to rest.”

The Daeaman raised an eyebrow at him, obviously not feeling the need to restrain their disbelief at such a statement. It was likely they could hear somehow that he would be up the entire night agonizing and panicking. Spock decided to go back to hating this planet.

“I was told to summon you, Cherished One.”

Spock frowned. “Ji- Lieutenant Commander Kirk has summoned me?”

The Daeaman frowned back. “I… yes. He has. Could you follow me?”

Spock nodded, his brain instantly blank as he followed the Daeaman down the hallway, forgetting to shut the door behind him. He had not accounted for any of these probabilities. He did not. He did not know what was going on. This, this wasn’t, this wasn’t in any plan at all he had come up with-

“Lieutenant Spock, I don’t mean to be rude, but perhaps you should do some deep breathing? You’re awfully loud.”

Spock blinked. And took a breath in.

The Daeaman took a few more steps and paused.

“Also out, Lieutenant Spock. That’s a key factor.”

Spock exhaled. He had momentarily forgotten that part.

The Daeaman sighed, turning back to face Spock completely. “It will be alright. I promise.”

Spock could not possibly believe they had enough proof for such a claim.

“Do you know what he wants? Um…”

“Varian. My name is Varian.” They were a dark, almost violet, swirling color, eyes a stark pale pink in comparison. “And he asked for you, Lieutenant. I believe that makes it fairly clear what he wants.”

Spock took a shaky breath in again. Varian sighed, walking over to lightly tap his diaphragm, which deflated slightly as Spock exhaled. “Or maybe not, huh? Do you need to sit Lieutenant Spock?”

Spock shook his head. Then nodded. Then sat on the ground. Varian sat next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I had assumed you had already heard everything you needed from me to know the details.”

Varian shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but sometimes it helps to say it anyway.”

Spock managed a whole breath this time, no interruptions. 

“I do not know why I am going in there.”

“I mean, you kinda do,” Varian pointed out, “It’s just you don’t understand why.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yeah totally. But that’s not really like, I mean, that’s personal info. Be a bit of a snitch if I told you that.”

Spock nodded. He knew what that meant from Sybok. Varian did not seem like a snitch.

“There is no logical point in keeping anything from you, is there?”

“Not really, no, if you’re a fan of that kinda thing.”

Spock sighed, resting his head on his knees.

“I… I am afraid. Of who I will be. If he tells me I am wrong.”

Varian smiled softly. “Do you know? Who you’ll be? On the off chance he tells you that you’re wrong? Because I know.” 

If Spock cared anymore, he might have been embarrassed by how quickly his head whipped up to look at Varian. But they simply patted him on the shoulder, rising up.

“The exact same person. Ten hours from now, a year from now, a decade from now. No matter who the person is, they won’t shift the fact you’re you. His room’s the door in front.” They were already halfway out of the corridor when they glanced over their shoulder, adding, “I hope you get the answer you’re looking for, Spock. Maybe it’ll help your mind quiet down a bit. Good luck.”

And just as quickly as that, Spock was left, sitting on the top floor of the central tower of Daeama, staring at Jim’s door, completely alone.

The window overhead showed unfamiliar stars. But if he oriented himself correctly, he knew with time, he could still name them. That was simply how the cosmos worked.

He stood up. He was unbalanced, tipping, in more ways than one. But he did what he always did. What he’d always do.

And he called out for Jim.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs written to were!!
> 
> Shelter by Dermot Kennedy and Agape by Bear's Den


End file.
